Ruined Forever In the Best Way Possible
by genvessel
Summary: FutureFic: Troypay. Troy is sent on assignment to Kenya and discovers that Africa often ruins people in the best way possible. Of course, Sharpay has known that for years. Complete.
1. Chapter 1

Title: Ruined Forever (In the Best Way Possible)  
Author: Kristen  
Date: August 2007  
Pairing: Troy/Sharpay  
Setting: FutureFic  
Rating: T/M for language

**Summary**: This was not the Sharpay Evans that he knew. This one had mismatched clothes and dirty fingers and ratty hair. She seemed a thousand miles and a million years removed from the Sharpay of Twinkle Towne and East High and Darbus' homeroom. And yet, there was something more beautiful about this version then he could have ever imagined.

**Author Note**: I promise that it's a Troypay, just join me on the journey. Most of the story is going to take place in Africa, so there are some terms you need to know ahead of time. I'll put the ones used in each chapter here in the authors note so that you can keep up. All will be explained within the story as well, but just for the integrity, here's a heads-up.

**ARV** – Anti-Retroviral Drugs. Leading treatment for HIV/AIDS  
**HIV/AIDS** – a disease that attacks the immune system. The rates of it in most of the world and Africa especially have reached pandemic proportions. Passed through the exchange of bodily fluids  
**Matatu** – Kenyan taxi system  
**Hakuna Matatta** – "no worries" in Swahili  
**Kibera** – 2nd largest slum in the world. Located in Nairobi, Kenya. Roughly 750,000 people live there. It's featured in the movie _Constant Gardener_

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_click_

"Seriously, Troy."

_click click click_

"Gabi. Shut up."

"Troy, we have been here since 6am. It is now 2pm. There is now way that you can need any more pictures of muddy Scottish hippies."

After eight years of playing this game, I could complete the speech for her. I think she kept talking… not quite sure…

"If the sassy broad in the obnoxious had could just shift…" I muttered, not even acknowledging Gabi's whining. "There you go, sweetheart."

_click_

"Troy! Are you even listening to me!?!"

"Nope."

"Argh!"

_click click click click_

"Gabi, I swear to God that if you don't shut up, I will show Andrew the Twinkle Towne DVD."

She gasped. "You wouldn't."

"Do not test me woman," I tore one eye away from the viewfinder briefly. Gabi knew that if I made the point to look at her during a photoshoot, I wasn't messing around. "As you already so astutely pointed out, we've been in my living nightmare for eight hours already. I am muddy and hungry and all they have is haggis and fried Mars Bars and I'm getting increasingly cranky and I don't even have close to my cover shot. If you're bored, go make out with a Scottsman. See if all the rumors are true."

_click click_

I could almost hear her roll her eyes at me. I chuckled softly under my breath and continued to scan the crowd with my camera.

I heard Gabi's phone sing out that special ring tone and I knew that our time was done for the day. "Tell him I said hi," I called to her as she answered her husband's phone call.

"Hey Andrew," she said sweetly. "No, of course he's not done…" She turned and smiled at me and I heard her voice drift away. She always meandered off when Andrew called.

After about fifteen more minutes, I had the shots I wanted. The annual Glastonbury Festival in Scotland was a staple for my magazine and something I took pretty seriously. Although, Gabi and Andrew would tell you that I take just about everything with the magazine pretty seriously.

My business card, in case you're curious, proclaims me as the "Senior Photojournalist for the Footprints Media Group". A very fancy way of saying that my two best friends and I started a magazine about ten years ago and that's spawned into an entire media group and somewhere along the way my love of photography turned into a job.

Packing up my cameras (I've got six. I know. Excessive. Gabi sings that song frequently.), I found myself watching Gabi talk to Andrew on the phone. I've known her since high school, actually. We dated for a little while in the midst of this incredibly awkward season that involved talent shows and sequins and an incredibly scary woman named Ms. Darbus. We both graduated from East High in Albuquerque and headed our separate ways for college. I accepted a basketball scholarship for the University of Kentucky and moved to Lexington. Gabi, however, got a full ride to Dartmouth up in New Hampshire. Freaking genius. I was pretty sure that we would never see each other again.

Best laid plans, eh?

"Are you finally ready?"

Gabi's voice broke into my reverie and I nodded my assent.

"He said to remember that the dinner tonight is black tie and that your Scottish accent sucks."

"Tell him thanks and that he can kiss my ass."

"So mature, Bolton. So mature."

"It's why you keep me around."

"Pretty much."

I checked my watch and noted the time. "So, I want to grab a few shots of the surrounding countryside while I've still got the light. Why don't you head back to the hotel and I'll meet you guys in the lobby tonight for the dinner?"

"Sounds good. Don't get run over by sheep, okay? I hear they're vicious."

"I will steer clear of the fluffy, skittish creatures, Gabriella. Don't worry," I smiled.

She stuck her tongue out at me and walked away to hail a cab. I shouldered my camera bag and went in the opposite direction.

Bad Scottish accent my ass.

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"Loretta, this is very important. I need to know if you've been taking the ARVs."

"No, Sharpay. I have not."

I took a deep breath and ran my fingers through my hair. They stopped a few times at all of the knots and I thought once again that I should just shave the whole mess of it. Or at least put it in dredlocks. Long blonde hair in Kenya just wasn't the most practical.

"Loretta, you know that I want to do everything that I can to help you. But I cannot do that if you are not taking the drugs!"

"I know that, Sharpay. But I have to eat."

And we're back to the same place. Loretta and I have been doing this dance for almost three weeks now.

"Loretta, did you sell your drugs?" When she nodded that yes, she had, I sighed. "Well, friend, then I am sorry. I will have to cut you from the drug program."

"NO!" She screamed at me in rapid Swahili and I willed myself to not cry and hug her and tell her that we would figure it all out. That is not what was going to help her.

After several minutes of screaming and crying, I did place my hand on her arm and say, "Loretta, friend, calm down. Take this bag of maize and come back on Friday. By then, I should have more information for you for more food programs. If I find you places to get food, then we might be able to talk about putting you back on the assisted ARV rotation."

In the eight years that I had been doing this kind of work, it never got easier. Ever.

My dear friend slumped her shoulders in defeat. I could already see the HIV eating away at her skin. The ARV drugs were the best hope she had at a prolonged life. However, there were so many other danger factors to life in Africa. HIV/AIDS was just the tip of the iceberg.

I saw my last few clients for the day and then closed up the clinic. As I walked home through the streets of Kibera to reach the matatu to get to my flat, I smiled at the children playing with their balls in the street. Of course, their balls were made of trash bags and twine, but they were still play objects. As I turned one corner in the densely populated slum, I heard my name being called.

"Sharpay!"

"Oh, Yusef! Friend, how are you?!"

"I am very well," he smiled broadly and launched into a lengthy monologue about his family and his school and all of the goings on in his world. He asked about mine back and then got a pretty serious look on his face.

"Yusef, what is it?"

"I received a call from America today."

"Really? From who?"

"From a magazine editor named Andrew Morales. He wants to send a photojournalist to live with us for a month and do an in-depth report on the HIV/AIDS pandemic in Kenya."

"Well," I said slowly, measuring my response. "That could be fun. He could at least bring me peanut butter."

"So you'd be okay with it?"

"Would this photojournalist work with me?"

Yusef nodded. "He'd work with you and I would probably also ask you to take him around to other sites around the city. Maybe even down to Mombassa or the Mara."

"He wouldn't live with me, right?"

"Oh no. He'll be staying at the Gracia Guest House in Nairobi. It would not be proper for a young man to stay with a young woman when they are not married," Yusef was appalled at even the thought. Kenyan culture was still pretty formal in that area. Even though so many people lived together and such, it was never acknowledged. People would either get offended or turn a blind eye. Drove me crazy sometimes, but it was one of the things I had gotten used to, I suppose.

"Of course not, Yusef," I responded, biting back a smile. "Just let me know when he's getting here. I'll make sure to pick him up from the airport."

"Excellent, Sharpay. Thank you."

"Hakuna Matatta, Yusef," I laughed. As I began to walk away, I turned and said, "By the way, what's his name, this photojournalist guy?"

"Um, Troy. Troy Bolton."

And that's when my insides began to liquefy.


	2. Chapter 2

Title: Ruined Forever (In the Best Way Possible)  
Author: Kristen  
Date: August 2007  
Pairing: Troy/Sharpay  
Setting: FutureFic  
Rating: T/M for language

**Summary**: This was not the Sharpay Evans that he knew. This one had mismatched clothes and dirty fingers and ratty hair. She seemed a thousand miles and a million years removed from the Sharpay of Twinkle Towne and East High and Darbus' homeroom. And yet, there was something more beautiful about this version then he could have ever imagined.

**Author Note**: Here's the chapter where Troy finds out what you already know… that he's headed to Africa. But don't worry, you get to find out stuff too. Thanks so much for the enthusiastic and well-written reviews. If any of you are authors, you know how much they all mean. Seriously. Thank You.

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"So how long have you been with Footprints?"

I swear to God that if this blonde runs her finger up my chest one more time…

"Since the beginning," I replied. "It was actually Andrew, Gabriella and I who started it."

"Oh, really?" She trilled in her accent that once was delightful and now is grating on my nerves. "Tell me about it."

Seriously, Bolton. This isn't worth it. I don't care how much money she has or what British publishing syndicate her father owns, I just can't take it anymore.

I'm about to suddenly get a "very important phone call" when Andrew catches my eye from across the room. The look says all it needs to. That if we're going to go international, we need to make new friends. And that includes blondes with money and wandering fingers.

"Well," I smiled, laying on all of the charm that I could, "it all started during our freshman year of college."

"Do you mean university?"

I paused. I forgot that college meant high school over here. "Yes, university. I apologize." I took the last sip of my martini and signaled to one of the roving waiters to replace it. "It's a little bit complicated, so try to follow me."

The new martini arrived promptly. I need to remember to tip that man.

"I may have too many cosmos in me," she giggled, "but I'll give it my best shot!"

Awesome.

"Well, Gabriella and I have been friends since high school and Andrew and I were college roommates. Andrew and I went to the University of Kentucky and Gabi went to Dartmouth."

"Are those far apart?" she interrupted. "I'm total rubbish with American geography."

I think I'm totally past the point where I can ask her for her name again, which sucks, because I don't remember it at all.

"They're not clear across the country from each other, but they're probably a good two days' drive," I replied. She looked sufficiently amazed and babbled a bit about how big America is and how lost she'd get and I nodded and finished up my third martini of our conversation. When I was pretty sure that she was done, I continued.

"The summer after our freshman year, Gabi had gotten a job as a lifeguard at a camp up by her in New Hampshire and neither Andrew or I had anything lined up, so we signed up as well. I was a basketball coach and Andrew taught horseback riding. That was when Andrew and Gabi started dating, by the way. They got married right after college graduation."

"Even though they lived so far apart?" Now she was shrieking. Or maybe squeeling. I'm not sure which. But she was definitely starting to sound like a pig.

"I know, crazy huh?" I said just a little too cheerfully. "Well, after graduation, they got married and moved to California. Gabi worked for an accounting firm during the day and on her master's degree in business administration at night. Andrew got a low level job in marketing at a movie studio out there. I had gotten my degree in sports management and sales and so I stayed in Lexington and worked for the athletic department at the university."

"Oh wow."

She was running her finger again.

"Andrew had his degree in journalism and had always wanted to work in publishing and so after a few months, he and Gabi approached me about maybe starting up our own magazine. It took about eighteen months to get off the ground and find other people to write the articles and all, but it's basically our baby. And it's all just grown from there!"

"So what do you do for the company?"

"Oh, did I forget to mention that? I'm the photojournalism editor."

There's that giggle again. "How did you get from sport marketing to photojournalism? Have you ever taken a proper course in photography?"

I could really use another martini.

"No, actually, I'm fairly self-taught."

"But you'd never know it by the quality of his work," Gabi interrupted. "He truly has an eye for capturing the world. Gabriella Morales," she extended her hand to the blonde. Gabi's such the professional.

"I'm Felicity Miller, of Miller Publications," the blonde replied as she shook Gabi's hand.

Felicity. Now I remember. Like the show with the girl with the curly hair. I had a girlfriend in college who went through a _Felicity_ on DVD phase. Noel or Ben? Endless questions.

"Troy?" Gabi's voice snapped me back to reality.

"Yes, I'm sorry, you were saying?"

She had quite a bemused smile on her face. "I was just asking Felicity if I could steal you away for a few moments. Andrew needs to see you about something."

"Oh, he does?" I made an intense effort to put dripping sadness into my voice. Hopefully it worked. "Felicity, thanks for the chat, we'll have to meet up again sometime."

"Brilliant," she smiled. I think she was trying to be demure. She failed, but it was a solid effort.

"Gabi, I love you forever," I muttered under my breath when we were a decent distance away.

"Bolton, it is not my fault that some women seem to find you irresistible in a tux. Try and get uglier or something," she whispered back.

"I believe that all women find me irresistible in a tux, Gabi."

She turned, faced me and deadpanned, "Absolutely. How could I have been so blind? Troy, take me now. Wantonly and without reason. I cannot resist you." She rolled her eyes and grabbed my hand. "Seriously, my husband wants to see you and your ego in the next room."

"Oh, so that wasn't just a saving back there?"

"If you were only so lucky. Nope, he really has something to run by you."

"Please let it be that I get to cover the World Cup this year," I begged the sky.

We wove through the crowd of well dressed and well to do people that had gathered at Edinborough Castle for the Miller Press Syndicate Annual Awards Banquet. I was still unclear as to how the three of us had snagged an invite, as Footprints wasn't a part of Miller and we weren't exactly well to do, but invited we were. So the three of us dolled ourselves up and came to hobnob with the beautiful people.

Gabi caught me looking at a particularly beautiful person right before we got to Andrew.

"Way to get your head in the game, there, slugger. Always knew I could count on you," she muttered.

"What!?" I muttered back, cautious that no one would hear us. "Did you see her ass? It was basically a work of art."

"I'm sure it was the work of someone."

I'm done with Gabi for the night. Where's Andrew and what does he want?

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"I'm sorry, I'm going where?"

"Kenya. You're going to Kenya. Next month, actually."

I took a deep breath and stared at the itinerary in my hand. "Andrew, when I told you that I'd go anywhere, you understood that I meant anywhere with running water, right?"

He chuckled. "They have running water in Kenya, Troy. It's the 21st century there, too."

"Sure it is."

We were sitting in a small alcove of the castle, fairly secluded from the rest of the party. When Gabi had even left us alone, I knew that he had something fairly serious to ask me. I had no idea that it had been that he wanted me to move to Africa for a month.

"Listen, Troy," his eyes suddenly got very serious. "Remember when we first started the magazine? We said that we were going to tell whole stories and whole truths no matter how painful they are?"

"Of course I remember that."

"People are dying over there, friend. They're dying from a disease that they think is caused by witchcraft. They're dying because they don't have access to clean water. Bono hasn't just been blowing smoke for all these years, you know. There's serious stuff going on over there," he paused and ran his fingers through his hair. "I want the world to see what's going on through your lens. You tell stories with that contraption better than any words I could write. Please, Troy."

I connected eyes with the man who had more or less been my brother for over a decade. I knew all of his smiles and all of his expressions and I certainly knew the tones of his voice. And the one he was using right now was the "seriously, don't screw with me, I'm smarter and richer than you, but I will beg to make you do what I want". I'm fairly familiar with it.

A whole month living in dirt? Being away from the world? Taking pictures of dying people? He's going to owe me for this.

"Fine," I sigh. "How's it going to work?"

He smiled and clapped me on the back. "I just finalized the details with our Kenyan contact today. You'll be working primarily with the Nairobi chapter of Oxfam, the charity based out of England. Your contact's name is Yusef and he's Kenyan, but he told me today that one of his associates, who is American, has agreed to take you under her wing and be your personal guide. You'll probably end up shadowing her for most of the time."

"And what kind of stuff do they do?"

"They primarily deal with HIV/AIDS patients and all those who are both affected and effected by the disease. They help with job training and microfinance loans. I know they work with a lot of other organizations in the area of Nairobi that they're in."

"Is Nairobi the capital?"

"Yeah."

I nodded and took it all in. "Are there books I should read or movies I could watch? You know, for culture studies or something. I don't know the first thing about Kenya."

Andrew nodded. "I know that Gabi's got a whole shelf full of African books, so you can raid hers when we get back home. As for movies, there are quite a few. Yusef even mentioned that you should watch _Constant Gardener_ before you come because it takes place primarily where you'll be working."

"Right then," I said. "And where am I living?"

"The Gracia Guest House in downtown Nairobi," Andrew replied. "Meals are provided and I'm told that it's very nice. There's even internet access."

"So I can send pictures home to you," I grinned.

He matched my grin. "That's the plan, partner.

"And I leave?"

"August 1st."

"Right, about a month, then."

"Just enough time to get all of your shots," Andrew replied as he patted me on the back and got up and walked away.

"Wait, you never said anything about shots," I called after him. "Andrew! Get your ass back here! ANDREW!"

Bastard.

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	3. Chapter 3

**Author Note:**

So, here we are at chapter three, friends and neighbors. There shouldn't be any terms in here that you or Wikipedia aren't familiar with. I know I may be drawing out the meeting for some of you, but I promise that backstory and internal processing are going to be big part of this story, so please trust me.

Thanks again for all of the amazing feedback that you've been providing. Appreciated as always.

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"Shar, what is the big deal?"

"The big deal, Ryan, is that I am completely and totally mortified by how I acted in high school! I swore that I would never face anyone from East High ever again and now one of them is coming here and I'm just not quite sure I can handle this!"

In the delayed reaction that came with iChat, I saw my brother roll his eyes.

"Shar, seriously. Do you have any idea how different we all are? The whole point of getting older is to be different than you were in high school."

I cracked my knuckles and took a deep breath.

"But this isn't just…"

I could see his face crack into a smile. "I know, sis. It's Troy. Troy is a horse of a different color."

I nodded. "I just… I mean… I was awful to him."

"No, you were in love with him so you acted like an idiot. Totally different."

"Thanks."

"Anytime," he winked. "Hey, my skype credit is about to run out. I don't want to waste the whole time on Bolton and your high school sex fantasies. Fill me in on the clinic. Oh, and you know that Sarah will kill me if I don't actually get any info on Badi."

My niece was a woman after my own heart. Even at ten, she understood that African men were the way to go.

"Well, everything's going just as it always is. I'm going out to Kijabe at the end of the week, right before Troy gets here, to visit that CARE clinic for the disabled children. I have a meeting with the orthopedic surgeon there, he's American, about how to best do on the spot ortho care."

"What do you mean?"

"Well, like when kids come in with minor fractures. I'm sure there's a way for me to set them in the clinic without having to send them to a hospital or have them walk around with broken bones. Dr. Gokcen is pretty skilled in emergency care, so he offered to show me the basics."

"That's really exciting, Shar," Ryan smiled. I could see him look over his shoulder. His wife must be calling to him. Sure enough, my sister-in-law's head shortly popped over Ryan's shoulder.

"Hey Shar!"

"Hey Emily, I miss you."

Her face twisted into a grimace. "We miss you, too! We can't wait until Christmas. You're here for a whole month, right?"

"Right."

"Excellent."

Ryan cut in, "Shar, we've got to run. Can I tell Sarah that Badi misses her?"

I nodded in the affirmative and we said our goodbyes. As I signed off my computer, I noticed that my coffee cup was empty.

Nairobi was never quiet. Even now, at 2am, there was so much hustle and bustle out on the streets. As I waited for the next pot of coffee to perk, I stood at my window and watched the traffic sail by.

I really only missed America at night. In the wee small hours of the morning, as the song goes, when the whole wide world is fast asleep. Of course, my American world is not fast asleep. I'm seven hours ahead of Ryan, Emily and Sarah and nine hours ahead of our parents. Ryan and Emily are both on staff at NYU – Ryan in the theater department and Emily in the English – so they make their home just outside of Manhattan. My parents are retired and living in Albuquerque still. Although Ryan's family has made sure to visit me in every country I've lived in, my parents have never done so. I only see them on their terms, which means that I must be clean and presentable. None of this "African nonsense", as my mother puts it.

I love my job, I really do. I work for Oxfam International, primarily as an HIV/AIDS counselor and clinician. I've done a few other jobs for them as well, but that's the one I've spent the most time on. I've lived in Nairobi for about four years now. Before that it was New Dehli and Kilgali and London and Belfast. There was also that brief stint in Papua New Guinea, but that… well, let's not remember that tonight. I'm lonely enough as it is.

As I survey my humble flat, I realize that it is crammed full of the life that I have lead, all entirely after high school. I have a few pictures of college, but it's all mostly from my job and professional life. Even the pictures of my family are all from the past few years. I made a very conscious decision a long time ago to not be the Sharpay Evans that everyone knew from East High. I couldn't be that person anymore, not after all that I had seen and everything that had happened.

And now Troy Bolton is coming here. I wonder if he's the same or if he's different. Well, obviously, he didn't turn out to be a professional basketball player like all the New Mexico newspapers wanted him to be. I wonder if his journey to photojournalism was a strange as mine to Oxfam employee.

Does he know that he's meeting me? I wonder what his thoughts are…

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"I can't believe that he has you going for a whole month!"

"Mom, calm down, Kenya is actually safer than LA. And I'm actually on my way to the airport, so it's not like you're going to talk me out of this."

"But don't' worry," Gabi muttered next to me. "She'll try."

I suppressed a giggle as my mother proceeded to do just that. It, of course, was all the same stuff that I've been hearing since Andrew first told me that I would be going on this little adventure.

"Mom, seriously, Mom, Mom…" I interrupted a few times before she finally shut up. "Mom, you have my itinerary, the embassy knows that I'm there, there is now nothing else for you to worry about. I have the international phone, you can call me and check in on me."

"But what if you don't answer?"

"Then I'm probably dead, Mom."

"Troy Bolton, do not mess with me!"

I took a deep breath, "Mother, we have been over this several times. Listen, someone's beeping in, it might be someone from Kenya, I don't recognize the number, I'll call you when I land, I love you, buh bye."

I snapped the phone shut and leaned back against the seat of Gabi's car.

"Lair," she snapped.

"Yeah, I know, I'm going to hell," I sighed.

"As long as you're aware."

The rest of the ride passed in relative silence. Gabi sang along to the radio and I flipped through my informational binder.

We were just about to pull off at the exit for LAX, when she turned down the radio and stole a glance at me.

"Troy, are you at all prepared for what you're going to see?"

I paused and flipped to a page in the binder. Reading out loud, I answered her, "According to UNICEF, only 43 percent of Kenyans have access to proper sanitation facilities. The average life expectancy is 48 years and it is the nation with the sixth highest HIV/AIDS rate in the world. The gross national income is $530 a year and most people will never experience electricity in their homes."

"So your answer is…"

"I have no idea what I'm getting into," I replied.

"Well, as long as you're aware," she repeated. I smiled at her, once again marveling at my high school sweetheart and the woman she had become. I remember being shocked by how much she had changed during freshman year. That summer that we worked camp she had completely come out of her shell. I wasn't quite sure what to do with it at first. Andrew, of course, didn't either… but in a totally different way.

"Troy," she started, breaking into my thoughts.

"Yeah?"

"I want you to really live this experience."

I laughed, "As opposed to?"

"Listen, idiot, I'm pouring out wisdom here."

"Sorry."

We had pulled up to the departures gate, so she parallel parked and then turned to me. Grabbing my hand for emphasis, she continued. "The greatest piece of advice that anyone ever gave Andrew and I before we went to Bolivia was lean in. Fully experience every moment, no matter how painful or confusing they are. You're going to see things that are going to mess you up in deep ways, Troy. Deep, deep ways."

"I know."

"No, you don't. And that's okay. You're not supposed to," she smiled. Gabi leaned forward and gave me a hug. "Now, I packed some presents into your carry-on, so have fun discovering them on the plane."

"Aw, Gabi, you shouldn't have."

"I know, but I did."

We loaded my luggage out of the car and onto the sidewalk and I walked through the process of curb-side check-in. As a frequent traveler, it's one of my favorite inventions. When I had my boarding pass for the first two flights of my three flight and forty-six hour extravaganza, I faced Gabi one last time.

"So, here I go."

"Here you go, Bolton," she pulled me into a hug. "Carpe diem the crap out of it all, friend."

I nodded into her hair and squeezed extra hard one last time. I had done this a million times before – flown away to a far away land by myself… why was I wigging out so much this time?

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	4. Chapter 4

**Author Note:**

I am still completely honored by the reviews that you guys are throwing my way. To answer one question that has come up a few times – yes, I have been to Kenya and yes, it did ruin me completely. There's probably more personal experience in this story than there should be… but yeah. Whatever. Seriously though, thanks for reading and reviewing. It means the world.

And I've done the travel time that I have Troy doing in this story. London layovers are rough. Especially when you've already been traveling for twenty-some hours. Try to feel a little sorry for him.

Last FYI – I promise… Ye Olde Cheshire Cheese was Charles Dickens' favorite pub. It's right by St. Paul's and very much worth a visit if you ever make your way there. St Paul's is the "tuppence a bag" church from Mary Poppins.

**Terms**  
**Chips**: 'french fries' – my favorite way to get them in the UK is either with gravy or with curry. Trust me. Amazing.  
**Tube:** - London Underground – aka – the subway system. Greatest way to get in and out of Central London

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I ordered my pint and an order of chips and made my way to a table. Thankfully, the Ye Olde Cheshire Cheese, which was my favorite pub in London, wasn't too crowded. I found a fairly secluded back table and settled in. I had about two hours before I had to get back on the tube to leave for the airport and wasn't too interested in wondering around that much more.

A few minutes later, the waitress brought my steaming pile of saturated fats and I happily dug right in. I had quite an operation going, to be frank. My laptop and camera were busy uploading the pictures I had taken already during the vacation so that I could spend some of the time on the Nairobi flight editing them. I had my iPod rocking in my ears so that I stayed awake and I also had Gabi's bag-o-fun that I hadn't finished rifling through before the movies started on the previous flights.

My theory is that she just tucked little gifts into every conceivable pocket of both my book bag and my camera case. I feel like every time I dug for something, I came out with something that I didn't pack. There were books, iTunes gift cards, a tube of peanut butter, extra chap stick, and notes. Notes everywhere. There was also a brand new journal, which I didn't really intend on writing in until I saw the note that she and Andrew had written on the first few pages.

"Troy –

Before we say anything else, please know that we love you. You are our brother and we cannot imagine life without you. You know that. The adventure of the past decade or so has been amazing and we're up for whatever the future holds in the next decade.

We also want you to know that while this trip is primarily for Footprints, it is also for you. As your family, we felt that it was time for you to see life outside of the US. And yes, we know that you've been traveling for most of your adult life, but this is different and you know it. We want you to full lean in and experience every moment. Wrestle with the injustices that you see – both through your lens and not. Take a million pictures of things that make you smile and discover the joy that comes through simplicity.

We've always heard that when you go to Africa, you leave your heart behind. As harsh as this may sound, we hope you do it. We hope that you are ruined forever in the best way possible. Let yourself hurt and be broken when the moment strikes. Remember that amongst all the poverty there is tremendous joy. When you hold an orphan, let their innocence speak deep to your heart. When you are in the market, stop and have an out of body experience. If you can skip a shower, do it! You'll fit in better. Get angry at the injustices. Be thankful for clean water. Breathe deep of the sunsets. Try an African dance and let them laugh at the white boy. Let the kids get all up in your hair. Teach the little girls how to play "hand slap games" and wrestle with the little boys. Notice the deep wrinkles on the old, the absence of the middle and the eye's of the young. Most of all, be stolen away from the hustle and bustle of normal life and be reminded of the joy that comes from truth.

We know that you're not usually a writer, but we've found that experiences like that one you're about to have require processing. Use the journal or don't, but please don't shut yourself off because it's easier. Besides, if you journal, you'll remember everything better and you know that we'll expect full and detailed reports often.

Loudest love,

Gabi and Andrew"

Andrew and I had a long conversation before I left about his various experiences in South America. They've spent the most time as a couple in Bolivia, but Andrew has been several other places by himself or with his family growing up. It wasn't like he didn't know what he was talking about.

But what if I didn't want this trip to change my life? What if I just wanted to do a job and get in there and get out and let that be that? What if I just wanted Africa to be some place that I went once and not some place that shaped the rest of my life?

According to everything I've read and the movies that I've watched, that is the one option that Kenya will just not present me with.

I took one last long sip on my beer and grabbed a pen from my bag. Flipping to the next empty page, I began.

_So, here I sit in a pub in London on my layover to Nairobi. I'm uploading pictures and listening to some old Panic!At the Disco to keep myself awake. The flights were fine and I got to watch some movies. Always a plus. _

_So, Gabi and Andrew gave me this thing and told me to write down my thoughts of what I was experiencing. I'm not sure what that's going to look like, but they probably know a little better than I what I'm walking into._

_Right now, I'm just ready. I'm ready to finally get there and experience it all. I'm ready to meet this American girl I'll be hanging out with for a month and this Yusef that I've been emailing with. I'm ready to see the statistics as faces and know what Nairobi smells like, I guess. I'm a little bit anxious and a little bit nervous, but mostly I'm just ready to stop traveling and freaking get there. _

&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&

"Yusef, we are going to be late!" I yelled from my office. "His flight lands in fifteen minutes!"

"Yes, and then he will have to clear customs and collect his luggage and then he will get to us. We easily have an hour," my rational friend replied.

"But the traffic," I exclaimed, slightly out of breath as I ran around.

"Sharpay, please calm yourself," Yusef was not at all fussed. Although I was pretty accustomed to living on Kenya time, I had panic moments and reverted back to my American neuroticism every once and a while.

As I stepped out into the main entry to the clinic, I could see him trying to hide a smile. Yusef was far too polite to tell me what he really thought, but if I pressed him, I knew I could weasel out of him what that smile meant.

"What?"

"That is an interesting outfit to wear to pick up a stranger from the airport."

I looked down at the dress I had meticulously picked out from my closet. It was about the fifth outfit that I had tried on that morning. Not like any one was ever going to know that.

"It is just a dress, Yusef."

"It is a dress that I have only ever seen you wear for very important meetings. And dates."

I glared at him. "Well, I want to make a good first impression. This photojournalist – Troy, is it? – he's going to be here for a whole month and I just want to make sure that he thinks that he's important and honored."

Yusef smiled knowingly at me, "Sharpay, come, let us sit and have a cup of tea." He put on the kettle and started bustling around the tiny kitchen in our clinic that sat just on the north side of Kibera. It was one of six that we worked out of throughout the city.

"But we will be late."

"Sharpay. Sit."

As technically this man signs my paychecks, I felt the need to obey his orders.

When the tea was ready and he had properly prepared it for us, he poured a cup and slid it across the table at me. "Now, Sharpay, why don't you tell me what is really going on."

We sat in silence for a few moments and I stared contemplatively at my tea. "I know Troy Bolton," I started.

"The Troy Bolton that is coming to photograph us?"

I nodded. "We went to high school together… sorry, secondary school. I haven't seen him since graduation."

"And you are sure that it is him? There may be many Troy Boltons in the world."

"I checked the Footprints website. It says that he is from New Mexico and that he went to university in Kentucky. Those are both true for my Troy."

"Your Troy?"

Damn, he caught that.

"He was never my Troy, but I wanted him to be," I admitted. "Yusef, you know how I've told you that I changed a lot during university? I haven't kept in touch with anyone from my life before then besides my brother. I'm not exactly … I guess… "

"Do you and this boy have a … how do you say… history?"

I wanted to giggle a little at how Yusef was phrasing his questions. I know that he fancies himself my father and sometimes it comes out to play in fun ways. "I think that I may have been in love with him. And there was this party during our final year… Never mind. Let's just say that I behaved awkwardly. And I'm nervous about seeing him again."

"Ah, there is the truth," Yusef smiled and finished off his tea. "Now, let us go to the airport to pick up this man who makes you nervous."

"You are enjoying this?"

"Probably a little too much," he admitted.

"Yusef!" I exclaimed.

"Sharpay, my dear, you have to put your past behind you. So you knew this boy once. Now you will know him again. You are different. He is different. You can be different together." He grabbed his keys and motioned to me. We went out and climbed into the Oxfam van. "Has it ever occurred to you that he might regret high school as much as you claim that you do?"

&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&

God, I hate jet lag.

I have no idea what time my body thinks it is, but the gigantic clock in Nairobi International is telling me that it's 9am. I wonder how long it will take my body to agree with that clock.

As I wait for my bags to come around the baggage belt, I look around at the colorful adds that greet me. They're selling me mobile phone minutes and enticing me to come to their shopping mall. I guess that I never expected billboards to be in Africa. I guess that's stupid. People sell things everywhere and that's one of the best ways to get the word out.

I managed through customs and scanned the crowd for a sign bearing my name. Yusef had said in his last email that he and his associate would make sure to meet me there and I was assuming Yusef to be a man of his word.

Finally, I saw it and made my way over to a medium-height, broad shouldered Kenyan and a smaller blonde woman who looked vaguely and oddly familiar.

"Mr. Bolton?" Yusef stuck out his hand.

"Yeah, that's me," I grinned. "You must be Yusef. I'm so glad to finally meet you!"

"Us as well, Mr. Bolton."

"Please, call me Troy."

"Well," Yusef's face cracked into a wide and friendly smile. "Troy, this is my colleague and your tour guide, Sharpay Evans."

Holy hell. I should have known. Her face hasn't changed a bit.

Smiling broadly at me, she stuck out her hand. I stared at it for a few seconds before remembering that I was supposed to do something. "Sharpay Evans from East High? Holy shit! It's good to see you!" I grabbed her hand and used it to pull her into a hug. God, I hoped that wasn't awkward.

She pulled back and continued her smile, "Back at you, Bolton."

My mind was racing a million miles a minute. What in the name of all that was holy and sane and normal in this world was Sharpay Evans doing in Kenya. Working for Oxfam. Wearing synthetic fabrics. As far as I could tell, the dress she was wearing went all the way to the floor and her blonde hair was done into braids. Braids. There was not a single sequin to be seen. I don't think that the Sharpay I went to high school with knew how to leave the house without enough Prada to drown a country and she certainly wouldn't have been caught dead wearing her perfect blonde hair in braids.

"So, shall we?" Yusef motioned to the door of the airport. "We have much to do and much to show you, Troy."

I snapped back into reality as quickly as possible and trying to avoid any awkwardness by staring any longer at this new Sharpay, I followed Yusef dutifully to the car. We did all the small talk stuff that you do when you first land somewhere… how was the flight, are you tired, are you hungry, etc, etc, etc.

As we climbed into the slightly run-down van with the Oxfam emblem emblazoned on the side, I found myself once more staring at Sharpay.

The mountain lion ice queen was living and working in Kenya.

Surreal Ville, population me.


	5. Chapter 5

**Author Note:**

The moment you've all been waiting for… the explanation. Hope it suffices for you. Thanks again for the excellent reviews and questions and all of that. It's truly making my heart sing and definitely making me write faster. Keep them coming!

&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&

"So, I called ahead to Gracia and arranged for them to have some tea ready for us when we arrived," Sharpay called from the front seat.

I replied that that would be great and continued to be mesmerized by the sights outside my window.

People zipping by on mopeds and stuffed into matatus, wearing colorful fabrics and yelling in beautiful Swahili… I was overwhelmed by everything. I had left my camera in my bag because I knew that my shutter couldn't actually capture anything that I was seeing. Sharpay had mentioned that we were going to spend the rest of the week just getting acclimated to Nairobi and so perhaps I would actually be able to take my camera out of the bag.

"Troy?"

"I'm sorry, did you ask me something?"

Sharpay smiled over the shoulder of her seat and I could tell that she knew what was running through my head. "Don't worry, Troy. I had that same look on my face for about two months."

"Awesome," I chuckled. "I'll recover when I've been back in California for a month."

She laughed. When did her laugh sound like that? Like joy spilling over? She always sounded like she was too busy for life in high school. "Trust me, you'll get used to it fast enough. The pace of life here is kind of addicting."

"What do you mean?"

"Well, it just all moves slower here. And not a bad kind of slower," she was quick to add. "It's a beautiful kind of slower. The kind where there is time to concentrate on the things that matter – like people and family and neighbors. Is that making any sense?"

"Not really," I admitted. "I can't imagine doing life slower and that being a good thing."

"Slower doesn't equal lazy, you know."

That thought had never occurred to me before. What does she mean that slower doesn't equal lazy? Wasn't the productive life what made us all rich? I mean, if I wasn't productive and such, then I wouldn't have money.

I suppose she saw the look of pause on my face because she gently added, "Just try to keep in mind that there are some things that western life is not the best at."

"You say that it's slower, but there's more traffic here than in LA," was the only response I could come up with to that.

"Very true," she laughed. "I hate driving in downtown Nairobi! It's a mess!"

"There is much traffic because we have few roads and many cars, Mr. Troy," Yusef added from the front seat.

"Please, Yusef, it's just Troy."

He nodded and continued, "Very few people in our country own their own cars and so we use the public transport."

"The matatus?"

"Yes, matatus. Between matatus and lorries and the few cars that we do have, our main roads get very crowded very quickly."

"Lorries?"

"Trucks," Sharpay supplied.

"When we go outside of the city, there is much less traffic," Yusef said. "In fact, this weekend when you go down to the Mara, you will probably pass only one or two other cars."

"Where is the mara?"

"It's in the southwest of Kenya, down by Tanzania," Sharpay answered. "The Masai Mara Game Park is the best safari in Africa. We've got a two-day safari package booked for you. Our driver will pick us up on Friday morning."

"How far is the drive?"

"About six hours. It will feel like more, though," Sharpay offered.

"Really? Why?"

"Almost the entire six hours is on dirt roads. Potholes like you wouldn't believe." She wiggled her eyebrows playfully. "But then again, it's not a real safari until your van gets stuck in the mud."

She and Yusef both laughed. I guess I'll have to take their word for it.

&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&

"We have a pretty simple itinerary for you for the remainder of the week," Sharpay started out, pulling out a binder from her shoulder bag.

It was about 2 in the afternoon, Kenya time and we were settled into one of the shaded tables in Gracia's courtyard. After checking in and getting settled, they took me to an amazing lunch at a local chain called Nairobi Java House. If I ever find better coffee in my life, I will be shocked. Sharpay had said that her goal was to keep me awake until at least 8 that night so that I could recover pretty quickly from jetlag. I'm not going to lie… it was becoming a struggle.

I took a sip of the delicious tea that had been given to me. "Chai" they called it. Mostly milk, it was heaven in a cup. "Yeah, what do you mean by 'simple'?"

She handed me a few pieces of paper with times and dates and names on them. "Yusef and I figured that you should get a little acclimated to Kenya before we take you into our daily lives. Today is Wednesday, so tomorrow my friends Vincent, Helen and I are going to take you on a tour of Nairobi. Vincent and Helen are the people that I lived with when I first moved here, so I know that they're brilliant tour guides. And then you and I will leave early Friday morning for the Mara."

"Are just you and I going to the Mara?"

"Of the people that we know, yes. But I signed us up with a tour group, so we'll be riding and touring with strangers. We'll be driving on the way down there, but I managed to get us a flight on the way back. Trust me, once you take the road to the Mara, you'll be thankful for that plane."

"Is it bad?"

She chuckled, "Let's just say that pavement and Kenyan soil do not get along well."

I nodded, imagining what the roads must be like. "So when will I start work with you?"

"You'll start slowly next week. There are some places that we work that will be very easy for you to jump right in – the schools, for instance. But others involve one-on-one relationships," she paused to sip her tea. "Kenyan people are ridiculously friendly and they will want to know you deeply, but I have some friends and clients that will probably not be honest with me if I take you along on a home visit. It's not that you'll never go, you'll just need to meet them in another context first. We're working on those details."

"I watched _Constant Gardener_ last week. Will we go there?"

"You mean to Kibera? The slum?" She laughed. "You will probably begin to feel that you cannot get out of it! Many of the schools that I work with and two of the clinics are in Kibera. You'll also spend time in Ongatta Rongai and Kingetteri – those are two other slums in Nairobi."

There were a few moments of silence and I finally asked the question that had been burning in my brain. "So, Sharpay…"

"How the hell did I end up in Kenya?" She smiled and reached for one of the pieces of cake on the tray in front of me. "I was wondering when you were going to ask."

I laughed. "I'm not going to lie. You are about the last person I expected to end up as a humanitarian worker in Africa."

"I'm not going to lie, Troy. It wasn't exactly on the original job aspirations list," she replied. "Living in a slum in Africa was probably up there with being Ozzy Osbourne's personal garbage collector."

"So, how did it happen?"

"Short version or long version?"

I checked my watch. "Girl, I've got nothing but time."

She smiled. "Get used to that feeling, Bolton. It's a good one, isn't it? That there isn't email to check or an appointment to rush off to."

I did notice a certain freedom in the fact that this mysterious woman in front of me controlled my schedule and she told me that we had no where else to be until dinner that evening. I literally had no where else to be than sitting at this table and taking the time to listen to someone's story. Very cool feeling.

"Well, get settled. I'm going to ask Paul for another cup of tea, do you want one?"

"Sure, why not."

She got up and walked over to the hut where Paul was standing. I could hear them having a pleasant conversation, which kind of amazed me. The Evans' always had maids back in Albequerque and Sharpay was clear that it was never worth her time to know them. Here she is chatting it up with the guy who pours tea.

"Okay, so the journey of me …" She started as she sat back down. "Well, you know that I went to NYU. You went to Kentucky, right? To play basketball?"

"Yeah, you were doing musical theater last that I heard."

"That lasted for about a year."

Only a year? The girl had her own microphone system. "Only a year?"

"You know that whole big fish small pond thing? I got hit with that… hard."

"Ouch."

"Yeah, well. I tried out for everything that NYU offered and even some of the things in the local theater, but I was competing against students whose theater departments put Darbus' to shame. I mean, some of these kids had been doing two or three full-on musicals a year since they were in seventh grade. Their resumes were so much better than mine. I couldn't even get past the door for most auditions."

"Seriously?!"

"Yeah. And as much fun as my theater classes were, they weren't quite as fun as actually doing theater. I began to realize that I wasn't willing to just be in the chorus for the rest of my life."

"I can't imagine anyone casting you in the chorus, Sharpay."

She smiled, "Yeah, but your reference for theater is Darbus."

"Did you ever try for television stuff? Or movies? I dated an actress for a little while and trust me… you could totally own her."

There was that laugh again. "Thanks, Troy, that's precious. But seriously, I'm not a good actress. I can sing and I can dance, but acting is not my treasure. I probably would have done okay in those over dramatizied telenovellas on Telemundo or something, but for me, it was the stage or nothing."

"So what did you do?"

"Well, I guess I started to realize all of these things right around spring break of freshman year. I kind of went into a tailspin, to be honest. I stopped going to classes and threw myself into the clubbing scene. I kept going to auditions in the city, but it was all just… painful. I even stopped talking to Ryan for a little while."

Now that was shocking. "Seriously? He was at NYU, too, right?"

She nodded and took a sip of her tea. "Yeah, he's still there, actually. He's adjunct faculty in the theater department and a costume designer for a small theater in Greenwich Village. His wife, Emily, teaches in the English department and they have a ten-year-old girl named Sarah."

"So you're an aunt?" And Ryan's not gay? Wow.

"Yeah," she beamed. "Anyway, my roommate was a public health major and up until that point I had thought that she was a total bore. Her name's Margie. We're still friends, actually. It's all thanks to her that I found my calling."

"Really?"

"The last week of March… March 27th, actually… she told me that I either had to start going to classes and actually contribute to the cleanliness of the room, or she was going to turn me into campus authorities and get me kicked off campus."

"Would that happen?"

Sharpay laughed, "No, of course not, but it led to the fight that we had both wanted to have since September. I stormed out and ended up getting completely wasted at a bar a few blocks away. Campus police picked me up and called Margie to come get me. In my drunken state, I ended up spilling everything to her. That I wasn't sure I was in the right program, that I was homesick, that I missed everyone from East High but was too proud to even talk to them. I had even taken myself off of Facebook because I was so convinced that none of you would be my friend if I wasn't some big actress."

"Seriously, Sharpay? I went to college on a basketball scholarship and barely saw the floor until junior year. Gabi rarely left her dorm room because she double majored in accounting and English lit. Chad changed his major six times in two years. No one would have judged you. We probably would have bought you a drink of congratulations for admitting that you don't have it all figured out," I smiled.

"Good to know," she assented. "I want to hear more about everyone once I'm done."

So some of the old Sharpay – the slightly bossy taskmaster – was still in there. "Absolutely. I'll fill ya in on everyone I know about."

"Excellent. Well, the day after my confession, she asked me if I wanted to go to Papua New Guinea with her that summer. The NYU Public Health department was taking a trip to study the HIV/AIDS pandemic over there and there were extra spots for undecideds. As long as I officially changed my major to undecided, I could go. For some reason, it just sounded like as good of an idea as any, so I made all the necessary arrangements and went."

"Holy shit, that's intense."

"You're telling me," she agreed. "But it was the trip that literally changed my life. That next semester, I changed my degree to public health administration. Graduated Summa Cum Laude, managed four different internships and landed my dream job with Oxfam right out of college."

Summa Cum Laude from NYU? Damn. I barely managed the 3.0 that UK required for me to maintain my scholarship.

"What happened on that trip that was so dramatic," I asked.

She paused for a moment. "I saw people buried alive."

What.

"I'm sorry, what was that?" I almost choked on my tea.

"In Papua New Guinea, the dominant belief is that those who suffer from HIV/AIDS are caught up in witchcraft."

"Seriously?"

"Yeah, isn't that awful? But it's the same here."

"Even with all of the education?"

"Troy, I think you'll find that education is not as widespread outside of the West."

Okay, I really hate getting talked to like I'm stupid. "What do you mean?"

"In rural, agrarian societies, education is not a priority. So a lot of children don't go to school and a lot of adults are illiterate. It's hard to run add campaigns and such in that kind of environment."

We're definitely coming back to that point. "Is that what it's like in Papua New Guinea?"

She nodded. "It's mostly rural. So this disease shows up that kills people in all different ways, leaves sores and boils all over their bodies and they don't understand how it's passed – of course their first assumption is going to be witchcraft. Now," she continued, "it's not happening in the capital cities or anything, but definitely in the villages."

"So they bury them alive?"

"They believe that it's the only way to both kill the disease and the evil spirit causing it."

"Holy shit."

She was quiet for a few moments. "Her name was Marabe, the woman that I saw. I had just talked to her a few days before. In my nightmares, it's her screams that I hear."

Holy shit.

I saw tears glisten in her eyes. She quickly wiped them and continued, "Once I saw that, I knew that I couldn't live in a world where that was a reality and not do anything about it. I threw myself into the global war on HIV/AIDS. I even went back to Papau New Guinea the next summer for my first internship – that one was with Amnesty International. I've been working with some facet of the disease ever since – counseling, testing, education, lobbying, whatever was needed in the country I was in."

"So how many countries have you lived in?"

"Well, as soon as I got the job for Oxfam, I moved to London and lived there for about three years. Then it was India for about a year, Northern Ireland for a year, Rwanda for two years and now Kenya. I've been here for just under four years."

"Wow." That seemed like the only answer to give to that.

At that moment, her cell phone rang and she had to excuse herself briefly. I started into my tea cup and tried to process everything that I had just heard.

I knew one thing for sure, though.

I had to call Gabi.

She was never going to believe this.


	6. Chapter 6

**Author Note: **

I wanted to get this chapter out before I start the school week. I have no idea what updating will look like now that I'm back in classes and work and such. However, I hope to continue updating quickly – I know that I hate waiting weeks or months for chapters of a story that I've invested in. Know that I'm typing as fast as my muse will let me.

Also – for the pic that that I refer to in here, check out my Flickr site that's linked to in my profile- it's in the album entitled "kenya: safari". There's also some pictures in the "kenya:beginnings" album that show the hotel, the road to the mara, etc. Feel free to puruse.

As always, thanks for the excellent reviews. Y'all humble me.

&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&

"What?!"

I yanked the cell phone away from my ear as to protect my ear drums.

"I know! I can't believe it either!"

"I'm sorry, Sharpay freaking Evans?! In Africa? And she's an AIDS worker? Shut up," Gabi was screeching now.

I had been filling her in on everything that had transpired since I had landed, but we were having trouble getting to the part where I actually explained Sharpay.

"I'm serious, Gabi. She's totally different."

"Well, I would imagine she would have to be! Can you imagine the mountain lion ice queen actually living where dirt was present?"

"Seriously," I laughed. I launched into the story that Sharpay told me – the abbreviated version, of course and Gabi interjected the appropriate 'ooh's and 'aah's. Knew I could count on her.

"So is that all?" She said after I finished. "I've got something kind of cool to tell you from our side of the pond."

"Pretty much. I mean, we head out for safari on Friday and I'm pretty excited about that. Other than that, it's just been adjusting to the new and improved Sharpay."

"Excellent," Gabi took a deep breath. I could tell from her voice that whatever she was going to tell me was huge.

"Gabs, what is it?"

"If you do any shopping while you're over there, I'd recommend getting some baby gifts."

"Why would I do that?"

"Because I'm sure you're going to want to spoil your new niece or nephew completely silly and having things from Africa will certainly get you cool points down the road."

What?

"I'm sorry," I stuttered.

I could hear the smile in her voice from ten time zones away. "Andrew and I are pregnant."

Now I was screaming. We screamed together for a few minutes before we had to end the call.

Holy cow, Gabi was going to be a mom. Will wonders never cease?

&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&

It was like staying with a kid who had just been given the keys to the Willy Wonka factory.

"Seriously, holy shit, Sharpay! We saw lions and giraffes and cheetahs and holy shit! These pictures… I can't believe that I took these! We saw these things up close!"

I peeked out from the bathroom of the hotel room to see Troy's face lit up by his computer screen. Ever since we had gotten back from safari that evening, he had been jabbering nonstop.

"It was like living in _The Lion King_."

I laughed at this one. "Circle of life, baby."

We had arrived at the Sarova Mara Hotel to find that they had lost our reservation. I'm not sure how it happened, but it did and I was pissed. There was only one other hotel in the Mara that was suitable for the price that Troy's company had paid me and it was completely booked as well. Thankfully, Troy's brain worked faster than mine.

After Troy informed the desk clerk that he'd have to be the one to inform the bride (ie: me) of the mishap with her honeymoon that she had saved for almost three years for, I caught the picture and threw one of my patented Sharpay Evans hissy fits. There was some more talk of 'daddy's money' and magically there was a room for us. We even managed to snag the honeymoon suite.

I wish that, at this moment, I could rewind about fifteen years and tell my high school self about this moment. Classic.

"Sharpay, seriously, look at this." He flipped his computer around and showed me a gorgeous picture of a lion yawning.

Boy's got game.

I flopped down on the bed next to him and we continued to look at pictures that he had taken that day. I was mesmerized by how he just clicked a few buttons on his computer and it almost turned into an entirely different picture.

We sat that way for a while, until I finally looked at the clock on his computer.

"Shit, Troy."

"What?'

"It's almost eleven. That's when they shut the electricity off and we have to be out front for the morning safari at six."

"Seriously?"

"Yeah."

"Shit, okay." A few more buttons hit and everything on his computer went black. "Geez, goodnight then."

I am always amazed at how quickly men can get ready for bed. Or ready in general. The last man that I dated could be ready to head out for a masquerade ball in under forty minutes. I kind of hated them for that. My face wash regimen alone took almost fifteen.

I climbed into my side of the queen sized bed. This was the awkward thing about our little lie to get the room… sleeping in the same bed with Troy Bolton. How in God's name was I going to do this?

I mean, this was the boy that was the feature of all of my daydreams from ages eleven to twenty one. That's ten years. That's some serious pining time. That spans three boyfriends – Troy still won. Of course, the early years were so much more innocent. Ages sixteen to twenty-one became slightly more x-rated, if I'm honest. I wonder if he really can bend that way…

He flopped into bed just before Sarova cut the electricity to the whole hotel. So here I am. In the dark. With Troy. In bed.

He smelled fantastic.

Yeah, like I'm going to sleep tonight.

&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&

"Sharpay?"

"Yeah?"

She sounded like she was completely awake. Glad I'm not the only one.

"Why do they shut the electricity off?"

I felt her shift a little. "They claim it's to conserve electricity, but I think it's also to force the mzungus to relax."

"Mzungus?"

"It's Swahili for "white person". You'll hear it a lot, actually."

"Really?"

She chuckled. "Mzungu! How are yoooouuu!!" Her voice went up at the end of the word "you" in this sing-song like fashion. "When you're walking through the streets, it's what all the kids will call out to you. If they don't know any other English, they know 'how are you'?"

"Why's that?"

She growled a little and her voice changed tones completely, "Because they're taught that white people are always kind and generous and that they should be extra polite and nice to them."

"Seriously?"

She snorted this time and I could feel her sit up in the bed. It was so freaking dark that I could barely see my hand in front of my face, but I could somehow tell that she was gesturing wildly as she answered. "Yeah, because that's certainly been the history of Africa. White people being generous."

"I sense some sarcasm, there, Shar."

"You think? I mean, for real, look at British and German and French imperialism all up and down this continent. And let's not even discuss what happened in Rwanda or the Congo or Darfur. Very rarely have white people actually treated the Africans with dignity and respect. It sickens me that kids are taught that we are the great white hope. Plus, it perpetuates the begging culture."

Damn, she's passionate about this.

"You'll see it when we drive to some of the more far-out clinics, but the kids will run up to the van and ask you for anything that you can spare. It's like there's this understanding that if they see a white person, that white person will have food or money or empty water bottles to give them. So they just beg instead of actually going to school. They beg and sniff glue."

"Sniff glue?"

"Yeah," now her voice was sad. "For kids who are hungry, it's often easier for them to huff glue. The hunger pains go away for longer than they do if they get a loaf of bread. There's a lot of feeding programs that have a policy that the workers have to watch the kids eat the bread right in front of them so that they can't trade it for glue."

Damn.

"So when do I get to get called 'mzungu'?

She laughed, "Mzungu!"

"Haha, very funny, I meant – "

"I know what you meant," she laid back down and I think that she turned towards me. "I'll take you to school with me on Monday. The XCEL school in Kibera. Some of my favorite kids in the world."

"I can't wait."

We laid there in silence for a few more minutes before I heard her voice again, "Troy?"

"Yeah?"

"How long did you and Gabi date after graduation?"

"Well, we had this agreement that we would break up for freshman year and then if neither one of us found anyone, we would get back together during that next summer. So, I guess that we broke up the day before she left for Dartmouth but we were both intending to get back together."

"What happened?"

I laughed, "Andrew happened."

"Did they go to school together? I thought he was your roommate."

"Oh, he was. Gabi and I decided to work at the same summer camp and Andrew ended up tagging along. During second semester, Gabi and I started talking less and less and we both just chalked it up to being busy, but I know that I could feel us drifting. We were growing up and growing apart and that just happens."

"Yeah," she whispered. Was she crying?

"Anyway, when we showed up at camp, Gabi was so different."

"Really? In what way?"

"Well," it was my turn to shift positions now. "She was feisty and witty and could obviously give a damn what we all thought of her. She was still really sweet, but it was a biting sweetness. It wasn't Gabi and I didn't know what to do with it."

"Andrew, I'm guessing, found it ridiculously sexy." I hate that I can tell she's smirking even though it's pitch black.

"Right in one," I laughed. "Before I even had a chance to adjust to the new Gabi, they were making out behind the canoe shed. They've been making out ever since."

"And now they're going to have a baby," she replied.

"Yeah, I'm so excited for them."

"So I guess that both of our lives changed that summer."

"Sure," I agreed. "You decided to save the world and I figured out that I wasn't going to marry my high school sweetheart. Those are totally the same."

She swatted at me and made contact with my chest. "Shut up. Your dreams still ended."

"Yeah, I suppose that they did. My reality definitely shifted. But man, I wouldn't trade my life now for anything."

"I know what you mean."

"I mean, seriously, I have a kickass job for a kickass company who pays me to explore the world. What could possibly be better? Oh, and now I'm going to be an uncle. Slap my ass and call me Sally, that's just fantastic."

She exploded into that fabulous laughter. "Bolton, you are just too much."

"I try, Evans, I try."

&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&

Damn it, I think I'm falling for him all over again.


	7. Chapter 7

**Author Note:**

Look at this… just for you guys… I managed to squeeze out a chapter in the midst of my piles of reading reports. I cheated slightly on this one… some of Troy's journal entries are ones that I have scribed in my journal during my time in Kenya. Lennox, Isaiah, Helena – they're very real people, as is Boniface.

Just like Troy, I hope that you can let these realities sink deep into your soul. That we are not alone in this world and that by being born into a country where English is our first language, we are already ridiculously privileged. Wrestle with what that looks like... and then book yourself a plane ticket. Get yourself to Africa ASAP and let it ruin you, too.

&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&

_Today was the day that it became completely real. _

I ran my hand thorough my hair and sighed deeply. I was exhausted on a level that I didn't have words for. I had been journaling pretty faithfully since I got here, but up until today, it was just the details of the day. Nothing major had really affected me – as awful as that sounds.

But today?

_I sat in a house that was entirely made of mud. The floors, the roof, the walls... all of it. It was about the size of my bathroom and was meant for six people. All three of the people I met - Isaiah, Helena and the baby, Lennox - were HIV postive. They were struggling to make the rent – which is 400 shillings a month. That's about $6. The water that Lennox was drinking was muddy and just outside their house was a pile of garbage and sewage. The smell was overwhelming._

_However, when Yusef asked them if their view of God had been affected by having HIV, Helena responded that God always provides._

_I don't understand that. How can people who have so little have such a deep faith? _

_Yesterday was the first day that the newness wore off and it all hit home. That AIDS is not just something that a few people have... but it's EVERYWHERE. That it's pervasive. That 50 of people in Kenya still believe it's caused by witchcraft. That the church has no idea how to respond and so they don't. Although, as many here have pointed out, the American church is far more informed and far less active. I feel like the church that's such a big part of people's lives over here should really be doing something. That most people are disowned by their families when they test positive. That there are faces to these statistics that I've been studying for the past month and that it's real._

_And I can't do a flipping thing about it._

_I felt completely overwhelmed by the weight of it. Standing in a school yard full of adorable children, letting them climb on me and feel my freckles and touch my skin and play with my hair… (they had never seen freckles before… my arms were a whole new adventure to them and my hair? They couldn't keep their hands out of it...) and knowing that they were going home to shanty shacks and no food that night... I wanted to cry. I know that my twenty minutes of being the human jungle gym is good - that I am bringing them joy and that they will always remember the day that the mzunugs came to play... but still. It was all just so little in the face of the tsunami._

I unabashedly let the tears roll down my face and curled up into a ball on my bed in Gracia. I wasn't able to eat dinner that night – it had just felt wrong. Taking a shower felt unfair and even having a whole room to myself felt like I was cheating somehow. I had never in my life felt so uncomfortable in my own skin.

I've been here for twelve days – twenty nine more to go. I've been spending my time almost non-stop with Sharpay and various other players of her Kenyan life and I don't think that I realized until tonight how much I needed her wisdom and grounding. She had dropped me off before dinner and promised to see me the next morning. I guess I had looked visible shaken or something because she had hugged me extra hard and whispered that tomorrow is a new day.

But it's a new day with the same problems.

How in God's name did people live in this? How did Sharpay get out of bed in the morning? I mean, Yusef… he's from here… but her? She's got a choice. She can easily leave. But she doesn't. How does she do it?

&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&

"I think that it's getting to him, Ry," I took a sip of my chai.

"Yeah, why do you say that?"

The video part our weekly chat just wasn't working, so I was talking to my brother over the computer just like I was using a phone. I know that it shouldn't feel stranger, but it totally does.

"He had that look on his face all day."

"The one where you can't tell if people are going to throw up or yell in anger?"

"Bingo," I sighed.

"Well, you always handle us all pretty well."

"What do you mean?"

"Well, whenever Emily and I find ourselves wigging out at whatever you're showing us, you've always managed to help us see perspective."

"I have? Really?"

"Yeah," I could hear the smile in Ryan's voice. Man, I miss that kid. "Shar, seriously, it's one of the reasons that you're great at this job. You bridge the two worlds pretty well."

"It just feels different with Troy."

"Could be because you want to see him naked."

"Could have something to do with it, yes."

"Oh!" He laughed, "so you're admitting it now?!"

"Oh come on, Ryan. He's gorgeous. Anyone with a uterus is going to want to see him naked," I assented.

"Sure, that's all it is. Pure animal attraction."

"It is!"

"I've got a tree out in the back yard at Mom and Dad's with 'Troy + Sharpay 4ever' carved into it to prove otherwise," Ryan argued.

"That was in third grade and I was delusional."

"That was in tenth grade and you were horny."

Dammit, sometimes I hate having a twin.

"What of it, Ryan?" I finally replied. "You know as well as I do that he goes for sugar pop princesses. Troy has never been attracted to girls with personality –"

"Is that what we're calling it these days?"

"Shut up," I screeched.

"Shar, you were a bitch. Just live with it. You're not one now, so it's okay, but you still have spunk. No matter how much you retract your claws, you will never be how Gabi was."

"Well, according to Troy, Gabi isn't even how Gabi was."

"Yeah, you mentioned that."

"I just…" I sighed.

"You want him to love you."

I cannot believe that I am that transparent.

"It's not like I want a relationship or anything," I defended.

"Yes, you do," Ryan shot back. "Sharpay, you are almost 33 years old. Of course you want the whole package. I don't care how much you love saving the world, you want babies. You forget that you're talking to your embryonic soul mate."

I sighed. This was just making me lonelier.

"Ry, it's after ten, I'm going to go."

"You're going to go because you're mad at me."

"No," I admitted truthfully. "I'm not mad at all. You're just more right than I really want to deal with right now."

"You sound sad."

I was. I was heartbroken. But I wasn't going to go into that. "No, I'm fine."

"You're lying."

"Of course I am, but it's late and I need to go to bed. We're picking Troy up tomorrow morning at 4 to go feed the street kids with Boniface."

"Fine," he sighed. "I love you, you know."

"I know. Give my love to Em and Sarah."

"Always."

I clicked 'disconnect' on my Skype account and let the silence wash over me. I hated how well Ryan knew me and could call me on my lies even from seven time zones away. I loved my life, but I missed having people in it daily who knew me and my history that well. As far as most of my friends here are concerned, I only existed four years ago. I've known Ryan since the womb. The difference there just gets lonely sometimes.

But I'm totally going to kick his ass at Christmas for all the stuff he said about Troy.

_Bzzzzzzzz bzzzzz bzzzzzzzzzz bzzzzzzzzzzz_

The vibrating of my cell phone scared me half to death.

Who the hell is calling me this late? I didn't have time to check the caller ID before I snapped the phone open.

"Hello?"

"Please tell me that it gets better."

"Troy?"

"Of course it's Troy. Who the hell else calls you crying at 10:30 at night?"

Crying was an understatement. He was hysterically sobbing.

"Calm down, Troy, tell me what's going on."

"What's going on? WHAT'S GOING ON?!" Now he was yelling.

Africa was getting under his skin.

&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&

She wants to know what's going on?

Is she fucking kidding me?

"People are DYING, Shar! DYING!"

"I know."

"I know you know! How are you so fucking calm about it?"

"I'm not calm about it," she replied… calmly.

"You are right now!"

"That's because you're being a raving lunatic!"

"Well, how else do you expect me to be!?!?!"

I heard her take a deep breath before she continued, "Troy, what the hell is going on?"

I grabbed my journal and started reading it to her, everything that I had been scribbling and crying over for the past three hours. Verbal vomit all over the place.

When I was finally done, she sighed. "Welcome to Africa, Troy. I knew you'd love it here."

Well, that was the last thing I ever expected. "What?"

"If you didn't love it, you wouldn't be this angry," she reasoned. "It's only because you see these people as people that you are so deeply angered that they're not being treated as such."

"Well, what the fuck do I do now?"

"Now? Now you go to bed."

Infuriating woman. "What?"

She sighed, "Troy, in about six hours, you're going to face some of the worst stuff that you'll face the entire time that you're here. Where Boniface goes to feed the children is an ugly, ugly part of Nairobi and it's going to make you even madder then you are right now. You're going to see children literally stabbing each other to get loaves of bread. I suggest that right now you take a Benadryl, knock yourself out and get some sleep."

I sighed. I was so very tired.

"Troy, listen to me very closely, okay?"

"Yeah."

"You, Troy Alexander Bolton, are good people. If I ever doubted you and counted you as one of those lugheaded basketball dorks, like Taylor used to call you all, I was wrong. You are a beautiful, beautiful soul and I have loved watching you love my world. You have embraced it fully and more soundly than any simple photojournalist would ever need to and I am honored to be working with you."

If I had any more tears left, she would have had me crying.

"Now, I want you to sleep. Sleep the deep, sound sleep of a man who has literally spent all of himself loving people and creating a better tomorrow. Sleep knowing that you have fought the good fight and that tomorrow you will live to fight another. Sleep now, Troy. I'll see you outside of Gracia in about five hours."

I heard the phone click off and I stared at it for a moment.

Damn, she's good.

&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&


	8. Chapter 8

**Author Note:** As always, Beacon of Hope is real. It's a fabulous organization committed to education, resourcing and care for HIV+ women in the town of Ongatta Rongai, just outside of Nairobi.

Thanks for the reviews and comments. I'm glad that this story is connecting with people.

&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&

"So, Dinah, how many students are here?"

"About two hundred," she replied. Our guide for the day at Beacon of Hope out in Ongatta Rongai was Dinah Ovinda, a spirited American woman in her mid-thirties. She's been living in Nairobi for about twelve years now and is generally my favorite person in the country. Her husband, Pascal, is the director of placements at Compassion International.

"Are they all HIV positive?" Troy had gotten very good at asking questions over the past few weeks.

Dinah shook her head, "No, but most of their parents are. A large majority of our students come from single parent homes where the mothers are HIV positive. Some of these precious biscuits are positive already, but trust me, they learn prevention methods early."

"They also run a VCT out of this building and then job training at the main compound," I offered. Beacon was one of my favorite groups to work with. We had partnered with them a few years ago to study the effectiveness of job training on the rate of ARV usage and I selfishly extended our partnership once the study was over. I come out here as often as possible. Dinah and Pascal had often been life rafts for me as we all navigated this world.

"And VCT is voluntary counseling and testing, right?" Troy offered.

Dinah and I both nodded.

"Would you like to meet the kids, Troy?" Dinah asked.

His eyes lit up like Christmas trees. "Could I?"

She laughed. "How about you read a story to our first years. How does that sound?"

Troy swears to me that he hates children back in America. He claims that they're noisy and obnoxious and they make him cringe. You'd never know it by how drawn he is to the kids over here.

He nodded enthusiastically and followed Dinah into the overcrowded schoolroom. I quickly grabbed one of his cameras from his bag. Even if just for my own heart, I needed pictures of this moment.

As we walked into the room, I felt twenty little hands grab out for me. They love touching us and being touched. Kenya is a very tactile culture, all of Africa is, really. They express their love and connections through touch. It definitely took some getting used to for me but now I'm addicted to it.

"Everyone say hi to Troy and Sharpay," Dinah was instructing the class as I tuned back into reality.

"Hello Troy and Sharpay, thank you for coming, we are glad that you're here!" Forty-five five-year-old voices struggled to stay in unison, but I could see that the preciousness of it made Troy love it even more.

He grabbed the book and sat down, "Are you guys ready?"

When they all went crazy again, he put a finger up to his mouth and shushed them slightly. "If you're ready, raise your hand." A forest of fingers appeared before me and I raised the camera to my eye.

_Snap_

His eyes lit up and became even bluer.

_Snap_

The little girl on the second row who was listening so intently, I thought her eyes were going to fall out.

_Snap_

I can see why Troy loves his job. He gets to capture moments. Moments that are fleeting and fragile and he records them for all of eternity. And because he's often photographing things that are foreign to his readers, he's their eyes as he tells them the story.

Well, the story of today is that he's leaving in ten days and I want to soak up every single moment that I possibly can with him. I want every memory captured so that I can go back months later and stare at that picture and relive the moment.

Ten more days is all I have and then he flies out of my life again.

&&&&&&&&&&&&&&

Sharpay had warned me that as soon as I pulled out that camera on the playground, I was going to get swamped. I hadn't really listened, figuring that I could do it discretely.

Oh man, was I wrong.

Cries of "Mzungu! Photo!" filled the air as the kids that weren't climbing on me were posing for pictures.

I felt a familiar hand scratch my back to get my attention and I turned to see Sharpay covered in children. The scratch was a plea for help. I laughed and pulled my camera up to my eye. She had two kids on her back and two hanging from each arm. One was wrapped around her waist and standing on her feet as she struggled to walk. They just kept saying "Mzunugu" over and over and over again.

I was beginning to get sick of that word.

I snapped a few pictures of Sharpay's predicament that I was planning on framing when I got home and then pulled the kids off her back. Of course, they transferred right to mine. Okay, so it was human jungle gym time. I can handle that.

Thankfully, Dinah appeared in the playground a few moments later and called them all in for lunch. In a matter of moments, we went from being completely covered in children to standing alone in a deserted play area.

"Well, that was an adventure," I said.

"I love Beacon," Sharpay replied, "but it's always exhausting."

"Are the kids always like that?"

She laughed, "Always. And Dinah says that they were like that when she came over here in grad school. Her friend Myles is the one that coined the phrase 'human jungle gym'."

"So what do we do now?"

She checked her watch, "Now, we have lunch."

I nodded, "Yay for beans and maize."

"Listen, friend, it's really not that bad."

"I have a gag reflex, Sharpay. The maize just gets stuck in my mouth and the beans don't help."

"Maize is the most sustainable crop that they have."

"I'm not saying that it's not fabulous, I'm just saying that I never want to eat it again once I leave Kenya."

"Ryan was the same way," Sharpay offered.

"Really?"

"Yeah, Em didn't mind it much at all. Sarah liked it, actually. But Ryan just couldn't choke it down."

"It's so grainy."

"Well, it's basically corn."

"But corn isn't grainy, this is like wheat bread corn or something."

She laughed and rolled her eyes at me. "Well, you only have to put up with it for ten more days."

Right. Ten more days.

Why wasn't that good news?

&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&

_We had another home visit today. An upstairs apartment, down a dark and narrow hallway, up a dark and narrow flight of stairs… a woman named Kathryn and two of her kids – 15 year old David and 3 year old Gloria. There were other kids, but they were away at school in another city. I asked Sharpay if this was normal and she said that agencies like Beacon or Oxfam will often help HIV positive parents find other homes for children who are old enough in order to lighten the financial load. _

_Through some circumstances that I'm still not clear on, Kathryn was not only HIV+, but was suffering from the affects of a particularly nasty stroke. She could barely sit up and her speech was garbled. I had no idea what to do with our time with her. _

I had found that the traffic jams on the way home were the best time to journal.

_I got an email last night from Andrew. He loves the pictures I've sent so far. Miller Publishing did pick us up, so there's even more pressure to get this next issue perfect. He wanted to know if he could make my stuff the cover story. _

_There's a lot of me that screams 'yes! We must' and then other parts of me that aren't ready to share about this. I know that my pictures will speak for themselves, so there is that, but… I don't know… I'm not making any sense. The whole point of me coming over here was to share what I've seen… _

_For the first time in my life, I'm not content with just showing my pictures. I'm not okay with just releasing them to the general public and letting them do with them what they will. I need them to know Lennox's story and to love Kibera as much as I have come to. I need them to know what death smells like and what it feels like to get tested for HIV. _

_Even if I wrote an article to go along with my story, I know that I'd still feel this way. There simply aren't words… _

"Troy, did you hear me?"

Sharpay interrupted my thoughts.

"No, I'm sorry, I was journaling."

"Hakuna Mattata," she replied. "I was just saying don't forget that tomorrow we have to be at the airport pretty early."

"Yeah, what time is that?"

"Our flight leaves for Kilgali at about nine, so we need to be there at eight, which, with Nairobi traffic, means we need to leave at six thirty."

"Damn."

"I know," she made a sympathetic face. "Suck city. But totally worth it to see Kilgali."

"How long are we in Rwanda for?"

"Four days."

"Awesome."

She smiled and returned the book she was reading and I went back to journaling.

_Of course, the biggest question on my mind right now is how do I possibly leave? I have ten days left in Africa – four for our little impromptu trip to Rwanda and six in Kenya. How am I possibly supposed to leave a place that I have fallen in love with?_

_And Sharpay claims that it's easy to keep in touch with her, she and Ryan talk every week, for instance. But I'm used to pretty constant contact. I don't know how I'm going to be able to adjust to life post-Sharpay or if I even want to_.

Holy shit.

Did I just write what I think I wrote?

Have I fallen for…

No.

Not possible.

I go to scratch out those last few lines and find myself unable to. But they're just as true as the other stuff.

Holy shit.

&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&

I've been rehearsing the speech in my head our entire drive home. Thankfully, Troy was lost in his journal and traffic was a nightmare, so he had no idea that I was basically hyperventilating over there in the driver's seat.

I know that I'm not crazy. We have a connection. It's grown over the past few weeks to a point where I am now going crazy. We can read each other's eye contact and we usually finish each other's sentences. I've only ever felt this with Ryan… but in a totally different way.

What the hell was I going to do?!

We pulled into Gracia's parking lot and he gathers his stuff.

"See you tomorrow, then? 6:30?"

I nod, barely able to think over my pounding heart.

Our eyes connect for a moment and I'm sure that he can read my thoughts. He leans over and embraces me. "Thanks again for a great day."

This man is going to be the death of me.

He gets out. It's now or never.

I pop out of the car before I loose my courage. He's already walking into the building…

"Troy!"

He turns, very, very quickly.

"Yeah?"

"Why don't you just come and stay at my place tonight? I'm closer to the airport than here and we can take back roads and – "

He cuts me off. "Just let me get my stuff. Give me ten minutes?"

I nod and he runs up the stairs like he's on fire.

Holy hell.

&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&


	9. Chapter 9

**Author Note:**

I need you to know that this is not where I thought I was going when I started writing this. It just kind of … happened. This chapter was supposed to be dinner and such… not … Anyway, I hope you enjoy the story that they obviously wanted to tell. These darn characters have a mind of their own.

&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&

"How do you do that?"

"What?"

"Read and drive at the same time."

"Well," she smiled. "If you notice, traffic in Nairobi at rush hour is not exactly "flowing" and Kenyan radio kind of makes me want to die, so this is the easiest solution I have to patience. I've gotten entire books finished just by reading them in traffic – especially considering that rush hour lasts from 2 to 7."

"That seems ridiculously unsafe."

"Yeah, because the mechanized ballet of steel we know as driving here is so safe otherwise," she rolled her eyes at me.

"Fine, but don't you dare ever say that I've never looked out for you," I replied.

"Hey, do you mind if we make a stop real quick?" She asked a few minutes later.

"Sure, where?"

"Amana Ya Juu."

"Where?"

She laughed. If what I wrote in my journal was true… scary thought… that damn laugh had a lot to do with it. "Amani Ya Juu. It means 'a higher peace' in Swahili. It's a women's employment initiative that works mainly with handicrafts. I want to get something to take to Rwanda."

"Sure."

"They've got really, really cute kids stuff, too," she added. "You could get something for Clyde."

"They're not naming the baby Clyde."

"Morton."

"No."

"Well, of course if it's a girl, it's going to have to be Olive."

"What is your obsession with naming this child?"

She giggled, "Mostly because you get so pissed when I do."

"So it's really just about pissing me off."

"More or less," she confessed. "Your neck veins pop out a little in the back. It's kind of irresistible."

Was Sharpay Evans flirting with me?

"You know, I've heard that."

"That your neck veins are irresistible?"

I nodded, "I have to keep them concealed back in California. If I ever let a woman glance at my neck… bam… it's all over."

"She's automatically pregnant, isn't she?"

"Or at least horny."

"Well, Mr. Bolton," she said in her best Scarlett O'Hara accent, "I do declare that language is improper around a lady of means like myself. You're making me blush."

"And maybe that was my goal," I say slyly.

Was I flirting back?

That made her entire face go aflame. I had obviously hit a nerve. I swallowed awkwardly as she fiddled with her hair and said, "Good to know, Bolton."

I had noticed over the past nineteen days that I had been with her that there was a wall with her. Her clients or coworkers never seemed to encounter it, but I certainly did. And whenever I hit the wall, I got called by my last name. Which, of course, made me think of high school; my favorite memory ever.

"Well, Evans," I said, just a little too snidely, "Maybe you shouldn't mess if you're not wiling to be messed with."

Now why the hell did I need to say that?

Her only reply for a few seconds was a withering look set in my direction. I remembered, all of a sudden, very vividly why we called her the 'ice queen'. It wasn't only that she was made of ice, but she had the uncanny ability to make ice run through your veins with just one look.

"I'm sorry, _Bolton_," she sneered. "I had no idea that the standards were so damn high."

Oh shit. Here we go.

"What standards?"

"The standards to… never mind."

Wait. Did we have a fight? And did it just end?

"What standards, Sharpay?"

She put the car back into neutral as we came to another standstill before a roundabout up ahead. "The standards to be in your little world were always high. You had a pretty impossible check list for people to attain to if they were going to be your friend. Grace? Never big on your list."

Where the hell was all of this coming from?

"I mean, I tried and I tried and I tried to be your friend, but man, I just wasn't good enough. I wasn't nice enough or pretty enough or whatever enough. Even when I would try, you'd just ignore me. I thought you had changed, but maybe you haven't."

Wait. This is about high school? Awesome.

"Sharpay! Seriously?! When did you try to be my friend?"

"All the time!"

"When?" I yelled just a little too loudly for the small space of her car. "When you manipulated me into abandoning my friends that summer at Lava Springs? Or when you tried to get both Gabriella and I kicked out of Twinkle Towne so that you and Ryan could steal the show? Or senior year, at Chad's party…"

"We do NOT need to talk about that!" She cut me off with an angry glare.

"No! Obviously we need to! Because it's almost fifteen years later and you're holding it against me!"

"You rejected me!" She was crying now. Awesome. I loved hysterical females when I was in small enclosed spaces with them and no foreseeable escape plan.

"You were drunk!" I defended myself. "If I had slept with you that night, I would have basically raped you!"

"I was not so drunk that I didn't know what was going on, Troy," she snapped back. "I stood there, offering myself to you and you wrapped a blanket around me and had fucking Gabriella drive me home."

"I was in love with Gabi and you were asking me to fuck you. What the fuck was I supposed to do?!"

"You were supposed to love ME!"

Now, that I never saw coming.

"I thought you were just drunk that night," I said quietly, hoping she would hear me over the sobs.

It was quiet in the car for a long time. That amazing kind of silence that makes you want to slit your wrists just to escape it. My mind was racing about a million miles a minute. Sharpay loved me? Did she still harbor… No. But all of a sudden, high school makes so much more sense. Gabi had been saying for years that Sharpay was just a big ball of misdirection, but I hadn't believed her. Hats off to female intuition on that one.

We made our way through the roundabout and ended up in the Amani parking lot. Before we got out of the car, she said, "I was drunk enough for the courage, but sober enough to make the decision myself. Ryan told me that morning that you and Gabi had had a big fight the day before and that the whole school had heard you break up. I figured that it was now or never."

"Sharpay,"

She held up her hand, "No. I need to finish this." She made eye contact with me briefly and I noticed that fierce determination in her eyes. "I have loved you since the seventh grade, Troy Bolton. High school was all about getting you to notice me and fall in love with me. Everyone getting the job at Lava Springs that summer was for you. The full ride that you got offered to UCLA? That was me. I desperately needed to make you love me. And you never did. I know that you never will and that's okay. I'm okay with that. But you were my Marius and that night the dream died."

"Marius?" I hated asking it.

"From _Les Miserables_. The one that Eponine is completely in love with but he falls for Cosette and Eponine dies in his arms."

"Well, that's morbid."

She laughed lightly. "I'm sorry that I word vomited on you back there, you don't deserve that."

"No," I shook my head. "If it's how you feel, then I want to know. That's what friends do – they're honest with each other."

"Right," she smiled.

"And Sharpay?"

"Yeah?"

"I don't know who convinced you that you weren't good enough, but it's a lie. And me not noticing you in high school shouldn't … you know…"

"I know," she smiled and squeezed my hand. "Besides, I was such a bitch, we would have never worked out."

I laughed out loud to that. "Actually, I think we would have been great together, if you just would have retracted your talons."

"You think?"

"Yeah," I said. "Look at how amazingly we've worked together over the past few weeks. I could not have done any of this without you. You've been… I don't know… my anchor isn't too cheesy, is it?"

"No," she replied. "Just cheesy enough."

She wiped her eyes one last time and grabbed for her bag. "Now, let's go shopping for little Orville, shall we?"

"His name will not be Orville!"

"Whatever."

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**Author Note: **

Please visit Amani's website to find out more about them and to shop. All of the products are made my marginalized refugee women in various African countries. The kids' line of products is absolutely precious.


	10. Chapter 10

**Author Note:** Friends and neighbors, I know that it's short. I know that you're probably going to be completely unsatisfied. I'm so very sorry. As I mentioned in another story, my nephew was born this weekend … so between welcoming Syler into the world and dealing with my piles of homework… this is all that my muse would allow. I apologize.

As always, I love the reviews. You all rock my socks off. Freaking amazing.

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"Pretty much all I have to offer you is pineapple fried rice," I called, rooting around in my cabinets.

"Well, I've never had that," Troy hollered back from my living room. "Sounds as good as anything."

"It's actually pretty good," I kept yelling as I assembled the ingredients on the counter. You just fry up some vegetables and rice in some pineapple juice and throw in some pineapple chunks at the last minute. I'm a fan."

"Excellent."

After our blow up in the car, or rather_ my_ blow up in the car, we had a great shopping trip at Amani. I spent far too much money – as I always do there – and even picked up some things to send back with Troy to give to Gabi and Andrew's baby. I know that I haven't spoken to her in about fifteen years, but after hearing Troy talk about them for these weeks, I have this odd attachment to them.

"Hey Sharpay," he started, as he plodded into the kitchen. "What's with all the Disney movies?"

I giggled, "So, you found my stash, eh?"

"You must have every Disney DVD ever made! I mean, you've got stuff that I've never heard of!"

"Well, it's kind of like emotional mac and cheese."

He laughed, "What?"

"You know how there are those foods that just taste like home? Well, Kraft Macaroni and Cheese has always been that for me. I stockpile the stuff and ration it like you wouldn't believe. Anyway, I've got some things that are macaroni and cheese for my soul. Disney movies, Madeline L'Engle books, _When Harry Met Sally, _you know, stuff like that. Emotional mac and cheese."

"Huh," he said, grabbing a bottle of water from the pantry and taking gulps. Not even Kenyans drink tap water if they can help it.

"Do you have anything like that?"

"A stockpile of Disney movies?"

"No, silly," I giggled. "Emotional mac and cheese."

He thought for a moment. "Yeah, a few things. You mean stuff that just makes you feel like your Mom is there even when she's a million miles away?"

"Well, obviously, you like your mother, because I would never describe it like that."

He blushed, "I'm kind of a mama's boy."

Okay, normally, that's a big red flag. Troy Bolton admitting to it? Kind of sexy. And by 'kind of', I mean 'really, really a lot'.

"Well, that's just precious," I teased him as I stirred the rice. I threw in some seasonings and added the steamed veggies.

"Whenever I'm really lonely and everything's falling apart, I eat applesauce and watch at least one episode of this old TV show that my parents loved. It's called _Sports Night_. Aaron Sorkin wrote it years ago, while we were still in elementary school."

"I've never heard of it," I admitted.

"Most people haven't," he replied. "It was only on for two seasons, but my parents loved it. This one episode… it's called 'The Six Southern Gentlemen of Tennessee' was their favorite. I mean, I'm sure it still is their favorite. Anyway, that's what I watch when I need to feel like I'm home."

"It's your emotional mac and cheese," I smiled.

"Yeah," he smiled back and leaned next to me on the counter. And the way that he was staring me down was making me want to strip him naked at that very moment.

Probably not the best plan I've ever had… but currently my favorite one…

"Shar?" his voice snapped me out of my daydreams.

"Yeah?"

"I think you're burning the pineapple."

I looked down and noticed that the pineapple was sizzling a little more than normal. "Shit," I swore under my breath.

He chuckled and backed away, giving me some space to work. The smell of burning pineapple took over the smell of Troy that had started lingering in my nostrils.

This was going to be an impossible night.

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Her apartment is like a page from international catalogue. Trinkets and paintings and framed pictures from every country that I can imagine. Some of are of Sharpay, most are of children and all are of subpar quality. I'm going to need to fix that.

"Do you want some Fanta with dinner?"

"What flavor?' I answered.

"Um, I think I've got citrus and black currant," she replied as she set the table.

"Do you even have to ask?"

She laughed, "You are such a citrus whore. I think I could get you to do anything for a citrus fanta."

"I'm performing monkey like in that way."

She rolled her eyes and scooped rice onto my plate. It smelled fantastic.

I made my way over to the table, scooting around Sharpay to get to my seat.

She smelled fantastic. Like jasmine and soap and … hope.

"Hope?"

"What?"

"I asked you if you were excited about Rwanda and you said 'hope'," she raised an eyebrow. "You do realize that's not an answer, right?"

Shit. I said that out loud?

In an incredibly mature move, I looked at her like she was nuts. "You must be hearing things, Sharpay. Are you huffing glue with those street boys?"

She nodded faked a tear, "It's just that I've been addicted for so long that I don't know life without it."

"There's help for you, Sharpay. We can get you clean," I replied, equally seriously.

"Troy, I mean, I just," she began to comically wail and then evidently couldn't do it anymore and broke out into laughter. Which made me start laughing. Pretty soon, we were both laughing so hard that we were crying.

It wasn't over anything specific, at least not for me. I was just laughing because she was. I was probably also letting out some pent-up emotion from the past few weeks and choosing to laugh instead of cry.

After a few minutes of trying to speak to each other and finding ourselves in a fit of giggles again, I felt her grab my hand.

It was like my entire body came alive and time began to move in slow motion.

I shifted my hand and wrapped my fingers through hers and sat forward slightly in my chair. Her laughter died slowly and I felt her eyes on my face. I slowly lifted mine to make contact and for a few excruciating seconds, decided if it was worth changing my entire life just to see if I was right.

This wasn't hormones. It couldn't be. It felt too real. It felt like I had tripped and fallen into the most real reality that I could ever imagine that was simultaneously a fair tale.

Well, Bolton, here's the fair maiden. It's entirely possible that she's the one you've been waiting for. The one that will join you on your adventures. She could be your lobster.

What are you going to do about it?

Well, subconscious, I'm doing go to do the only damn thing that I know how.

And with that answer to myself, I untwined my hand from hers. Taking both hands and placing them at the back of her head, I pulled her face towards mine and kissed her.

I kissed Sharpay Evans.

And I did a damn fine job.


	11. Chapter 11

**Author Note:**

Okay kids, I made this one extra long to make up for the lack of length on the past chapter. So hope you enjoy.

Thanks, as always, for the fabulous reviews. Please keep your questions and criticisms coming – they make me write faster and keep me on my creative toes.

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What was going on?

One moment, I was laughing over something completely ridiculous and the next moment Troy was looking at me like…

Like…

And then the next thing I knew, our hands were connected, then his hands were on my face and then his lips were on mine…

And then pure, unadulterated lust just took over.

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Okay, when I started all of this, I had no idea that it would be this good.

The things that this woman can do with her tongue…

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Holy shit.

I'm yelling back to my high-school self and telling her that all of her fantasies were totally true. He was that…

Holy shit.

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What was that sound?

Is she moaning?

Am I making her moan?

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"Troy," I breathed, finally coming up for air.

"Sharpay," he moaned back as he kissed his way down my neck.

All logical thought … gone…

No. Sharpay. Focus.

"No. Troy," I said, more sharply, pulling his face away from my neck.

"What?"

"What the hell are we doing?"

He shifted a little in his seat, which shifted me… when had I climbed onto his lap?

"We are making out," he replied, punctuating each word with a kiss on one of my fingers. "Do you need a further diagram or something?"

I untangled myself from him and nearly leapt up off his lap. "No, Troy!"

He sighed, "Sharpay, what the hell is the problem?"

"I just… I mean… We were ready to kill each other a few hours ago in the car! How the hell did it get to here?"

He smirked, "Perhaps we're here because we were ready to kill each other. Love and passion and all that."

I rolled my eyes. "That's fabulous logic, Bolton."

"Well, what do you want from me?"

What do I want from him?

"I suppose… "

"Listen, Sharpay, I have no idea what we're doing, but can you calm down so we can get back to it?" He took a quick sip of his precious Fanta and continued, "I was having fun."

"I was too!"

"Then we're agreed! Let's get to it!" He got up off his seat and made his way over to me and wrapped his arms around my waist, "Now, where was I…Ah, here. I was here."

His lips were on my neck again.

Did he have any idea what he does to me when he does that?

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"Troy."

What was that voice?

"Troy."

"Umph."

"Troy."

Now the voice was sharper. The voice should calm down.

"Bolton, get the hell off of my couch!"

Now the voice was accompanied by a harsh smack to the back of my head and the blanket being pulled off of me.

"What do you want?!"

"I want you to get your ass up and into the shower. We've only got about forty-five minutes before we need to leave for the airport."

Oh. The voice was Sharpay. Now it makes sense.

I unwillingly opened my eyes and rubbed the sleep out of them. She was frantically stomping around her apartment, throwing things into bags. She was already dressed, but still had a towel wrapped around her head, turban-style. I sat up and stared at her.

"Sharpay." I said, through the sleep junk in my voice.

"Shower, Troy."

"Sharpay."

She turned around and made eye contact with me as I rose from the couch. "What?"

I crossed the room and kissed her forehead, "Good morning."

She smiled, "I'm sorry, good morning." She leaned into my arms for about a second and then abruptly pulled away. "Now, shower, pack, and let's go to Rwanda."

As I stood and let the lukewarm water hit my body, I reviewed the events of last night.

It really wasn't a big deal. I mean, it's not like we had sex or anything.

Now, it's not like I didn't want to…

But my world shifted last night.

My mind is spinning a million miles an hour and I'm just not sure what end is up right now, to be honest. After some fabulous making out that happened during dinner… and after dinner… we settled down to watch a movie… which led to more making out…

At one point, it got quiet. There was some background noise on the TV and Sharpay had found herself resting on my chest. She quietly asked what this all meant and I quietly replied that I had no idea.

That was the extent of the analysis.

At about eleven, Sharpay made her way off of the couch and into her bedroom. The absence of her was a little hard to bear. Harder than I thought. I quietly got out my computer and called Gabi over the Skype. Of course, she didn't pick up and it's not like I would have actually told her anything so I'm not quite sure what I was thinking.

What was I thinking? Did I regret any of it?

I'm normally not that guy who analyzes things, but this just feels like something worth analyzing.

Not only had I kissed Sharpay, but I had loved it. I felt like I had come home after years of wandering in the wilderness. Like I was coming up for air after living underwater.

Awesome. Now I sounded like a Hallmark card.

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"How long are you in Kilgali, Mr. Bolton?"

I laughed, "Please call me Troy."

My guide, Pierre, smiled and nodded. "Yes, please," he replied. I had found that everyone in Rwanda replied with 'yes please' as their standard answer. It made Sharpay giggle a little every time, which of course sent me into emotional fits.

"I am in Kilgali for four days, Pierre."

"Oh, Troy!" He exclaimed, turning up the hill towards the hotel. "That is not enough time! How will you see everything?"

"I guess I'll have to come back, Pierre."

He smiled, "Yes you will. And we will have to make sure that you have the best visit that you can while you are here. Even for this short time. Now. We are here."

"And where is here?"

"This is the hotel that Miss Sharpay told me to bring you to. Hotel Des Mille Collines, the best hotel in Kilgali."

Why does that sound familiar? Hotel Des Mille Collines.

And then I saw the logo.

Shit.

Shit.

Holy fucking shit.

No way.

We're staying at Hotel Rwanda?

As I was mentally digesting that, I could hear Pierre asking me a question. "I'm so sorry, Pierre. What was that?"

"I asked you if you also needed a ride to dinner this evening or if you and Ms. Sharpay would be dining in the hotel."

"You know, Pierre, I'm just not sure. Can we call you?"

"Yes, please," he affirmed and we said our goodbyes. I made my way into the lobby to find Sharpay sitting in one of the red and gold chairs.

"Sharpay," I muttered under my breath as I took a seat next to her. "You so did not tell me that this is where we were staying."

"I didn't know myself until we got here. I freaked out too, believe me."

Once we landed in Kilgali, Sharpay and I had gotten picked up by some Oxfam employees and taken to a coffee shop in the city center. After some awkward introductions, they needed to have a staff meeting and I got the vibe that they'd love it if I wasn't there, so I offered to hang out at the coffee place until they were done. Pierre was the one to swing by and get me after their little meeting and he had thrown in a free tour of Kilgali on our way to the hotel.

"Isn't this the most beautiful country you've ever seen?" Sharpay asked me as we made our way to the elevators.

"I can't get over how different from Kenya it is."

"Seriously! It's one of the reasons that I love it here. It's like Hawaii in the middle of Africa."

We took the elevators up to our rooms and agreed to take a few minutes to get settled before meeting up for dinner. I noticed pretty quickly that the extra door in my room led right into Sharpay's.

Excellent.

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"You know, towards the end of the genocide, they were drinking the water out of the pool," I remarked calmly.

Troy paused mid-bite. "Exactly what I wanted to hear. Thanks."

"You said that you wanted to know about it all," I shrugged. "1994 wasn't exactly a picnic."

"You say that like you were here."

"Of course I wasn't. We were in elementary school. But when I lived here in Kilgali, I worked with women who had contracted HIV/AIDS from the genocide, so I've heard lots and lots of stories."

His brow furrowed. "Like they contracted it during that time period?"

"No, like the people that were the perpetrators of the genocide? Rape was used as a weapon of war. It's really how HIV/AIDS spread in Rwanda, along with pregnancy and scores of other venereal diseases. The rebels didn't kill everyone – sometimes they were content with leaving them for dead."

He stared at his burger like it was a life raft. I felt awful. Sometimes I forget that just because I've been dealing with these truths for so long does not mean that everyone else is used to them. The fact that rape is a chief weapon of modern warfare is a common reality for me now. It affects my everyday work and I've come to accept it as one of the things that pisses me off but that will probably never get better. I forget that it's not part of everyone's reality.

Ryan and Em always say that I'm impossible to take to dinner parties. Once someone starts asking me about my job, I have a hard time stopping. I'm the freaking queen of the overshare.

"Was that too intense?" I asked Troy quietly. The blood had slowly started to drain out of his face.

He shook his head. "I guess it's just really real. Sitting here, in Kilgali… it's just not a movie anymore."

I sympathetically nodded and reached for his hand across the table. I was about to speak when I saw him open his mouth to continue.

"I can't believe how much I didn't know before I came here," he said. "Andrew always says that it's the 21st century in places besides America and I never really knew what he meant. But he means that life is real for these people, too. Life is life everywhere and it's occurring in real time. I'm not living in a textbook reality right now. I'm walking in a country where if someone doesn't have a leg, it was probably hacked off by a machete and it happened during my life time and I'm just not sure how to deal with that."

"You're not expected to know, Troy."

His crystal eyes made contact with mine and bore deep into my soul. "But I should be. As Americans, we're the most resourced country like ever, right? Well, then shouldn't we be held accountable for knowing and helping and…"

I cut him off. "Helping gets a little messy."

"Not for individuals," he retorted. "On a governmental level, yes, I agree. But… I don't know. Didn't you say something the other night about refugee children in Darfur?"

"Yeah, It's a major issue. No one is sure where to put them."

"There's a prime example," he smacked the table for emphasis. "I watch the news almost every night and that's the first time I've ever heard about this. I've never even heard _The Daily Show_ comment on it."

I chuckled. "When I first got back from Papua New Guinea, I was incensed that all anyone could talk about on CNN was the summer blockbuster movies and what celebrities were in rehab."

"How did you handle your anger?"

I made a face, "You sounded like a therapist just then."

That earned me a french fry thrown at my face. "Shut up," he said.

"I handled my anger, Dr. Bolton, by not watching the news and reading books about things that I cared about. And when my friends at school were getting vapid and materialistic, I just left."

"You left school?"

"Well, kind of. I'd just get away for a little while. I'd usually grab my photo album and a journal and head down to Central Park. If it was night time, I'd head to a diner or something. Coping mechanisms."

He nodded. "I'm going to need those."

I smiled. "Yeah, you are."

"Thanks, Dr. Evans," he laughed.

We ate in silence for a few seconds. The statement was out of my mouth before I could even filter it. "Of course, you could just not leave."

He stopped mid-bite. "What?"

"You could just stay here. Shift your base of operations from San Diego to Nairobi and stay here."

He was quiet a little too long for my comfort.

"I can't do that," he replied.

I knew that he couldn't. I knew that it was ridiculous to even say out loud. And yet… when he actually said that… it was like … I don't know… I had to bite back tears.

"I know, I was really just kidding," I said quickly.

He stared out at the pool. "No, you weren't."

"Of course I was."

He sighed deeply, "Sharpay, no woman who kissed me like you kissed me last night would just be kidding about me staying. And no man who kissed you like I kissed you last night would …"

The trailing off was going to be the death of me.

"So what does that mean?" I said quietly, praying that he couldn't hear the tears in my voice.

He took one last bite of his burger and pushed back from the table. "No clue, Sharpay. I have no fucking clue."

I watched him walk back into the hotel and felt myself glued to the chair. What was I supposed to do with all of that? How was I supposed to react?

I felt like I had stumbled into a bad Meg Ryan movie.

What the hell was going on?

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	12. Chapter 12

**Author Note:**

This week has been nuts. When my week is nuts, I type. Hope you like the results.

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This shower has literally changed my life.

The water pressure, the space, even the colors of the tile.

I've been standing in here for almost forty-five minutes, mostly because I'm petrified to leave here and risk running into Sharpay. Which is, of course, one of the most cowardly things that I've ever done.

If I had finished that sentence that I had started down by the pool, everything would have changed even more than it already has. Was I ready for that?

I know a few things. One, I really like kissing that woman. Two, I really don't want to not be able to kiss her. Three, I don't believe in basing a relationship on how well someone kisses me.

So where does that leave me?

It was time to get out of the shower. I begrudgingly shut the water off, grabbed a towel and walked out into the room.

"Shit!"

"That was quite a long shower, Bolton."

Sharpay was sitting on my bed, calmly reading a magazine.

"I'm in a towel!"

She lazily turned on eye towards me and smirked, "And you wear it so well."

Okay, the flirting was not going to help the situation.

"Sharpay, seriously, what the hell."

"We need to talk. We were in the middle of an important conversation and you fled the scene. So, I brought the scene to you."

I took a deep, controlled breath. "Give me ten minutes. Let me get dressed and I promise that we will finish the conversation."

She raised an eyebrow in skepticism.

"Sharpay, this is not a conversation that I want to have while I'm wearing a towel."

She sighed. "Ten minutes."

Once she had exited the room through the door that connected our two rooms, I heard her yell, "You owe me the end of that sentence."

Shit.

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I have never stared at a clock more in my entire life.

I unpacked my suitcase and rearranged the drawers that I had put my clothes about four times.

I changed into my pajamas and back into my clothes and back into my pajamas.

That all took seven minutes and forty-two seconds.

I flipped through the channels on the television – four of which were in French – and it was eight minutes and fifty-seven seconds.

I sat on my bed in silence for what seemed like an eternity until the door creaked open.

I think that for as long as I live, I will never forget what he looked like at that moment and what I felt like and every aching detail about that moment. His hair was still wet, which made his eyes stand out even more. I couldn't read the look on his face at all… but if I had to put a word on it, I might lean towards 'scared'.

I had been so angry when I left the table. How could he just leave me hanging like that? How could he say those things and then just walk away? I had maintained my righteous indignation all the way up to that moment.

To be exact, it was the way he was fiddling with the hem of his shirt that was my undoing. Over the past three weeks, I had learned how to read him pretty well. Fiddling with his hem was one of his nervous habits. Whenever he found himself in a situation that he didn't know how to react to and was trying very hard not to physically freak out, he did two things. He tapped his foot and he fiddled with his hem.

I felt a smile creep onto my face. He was nervous. Good, that made two of us.

"Hi," he said, his voice cracking. "Can I … are you…"

"Do you want to do this here or should we take a walk?" I interrupted.

His eyes darted around the room and he finally smiled. "Balcony."

Perfect. The room was just too quiet but the bar would have been too public. The balcony provided background noise and privacy.

I followed him out there and was about to start speaking when I heard him take a deep breath.

"Can I go first?"

I nodded.

He leaned on the railing and stared out onto Kigali. "I'm not sure where to start, so if I do this all in the wrong order, I'm going to need you to forgive me."

"Troy…"

"And let me get it all out before you react."

I quietly agreed and hoped that my stomach would calm down soon.

"I am not especially… gifted at this relationship thing," he began. "Besides Gabi, which we've discussed at length, I've done the long-term thing two other times. I screwed up both royally. About five years ago, I swore to myself that I wasn't going to … you know… do this again unless I really meant it."

He paused for what seemed like an eternity. I could tell that he was weighing his words… but that didn't make me any less anxious.

"I really feel like I only know a few things right now. I think a lot of things and I'm not sure about a lot… but I do know some. One of the known things is that sometime over the past three weeks, you have gotten under my skin in a way that no other woman ever has. It's not that I'm just attracted to you or that I want to sleep with you – although both of those things are true – it's that you have become part of what I understand life to be."

I think that I stopped functioning at that point.

"I need to process my days with you. I need your opinions on what is going on in my world. I need to know what you think about things. Sometimes, it is because I'm on your territory and you know more and I need your wisdom. And I've thought of that. Will this whatever I have for you end when I get back to America?"

Oh gosh… he's planning…

"But a few days ago, I was checking my email. There was this long winded one from Gabi about her doctor's appointment and how joyous the joys of pregnancy are and I realized that I wanted to print it out and read it to you. I wanted you to know that part of my life and I wanted you in it. I wanted …" he trailed off and shifted his gaze to mine. "I realized that I wanted you in my life outside of this continent."

"I want you in my life outside of this continent, too," I assured him softly.

He grinned, "You gotta let me finish or I'll loose my nerve."

"Sorry."

At this point in the conversation, he stopped leaning against the railing and starting stomping all over the balcony. I'm assuming that the adrenaline was just taking over, because his words started to come out completely jumbled and he was pacing like a rabid animal.

"It wasn't like I came over here to fall for someone, Sharpay. I mean, for crying out loud, I didn't want to come at all. When Andrew told me I was coming… I mean… anyway, you know that. And then when it was you that picked me up… it was like this fascinating mystery. Who was this girl who looked like Sharpay? I felt like I had stumbled onto a buried treasure or something. You just kept constantly surprising me. I felt like every time I had you figured out, you completely shocked me."

He went inside the room and grabbed his computer. "I mean, this is the Sharpay that I knew."

He showed me a picture that had been taken right before high school graduation. I had my trademark smirk on my face and I was standing like I was better than everyone else in the picture. Gosh, how did I have friends? Oh, that's right. I didn't.

"And this Sharpay just scared the living shit out of me," he admitted. "So I spent the first… I don't know… week or so just reconciling the two Sharpays in my mind. The one that was and the one that is and realizing…"

He trailed off and put down his computer on the small table on the balcony. "In the midst of your mysteries, and sometimes not knowing what you were going to do next, I slowly began to read you almost perfectly. I knew at times what you were going to say before you said it and how you would react to things. I began to figure out that you only order coffee after you've had a really bad day and that you definitely had smiles that didn't go all the way to your eyes. And I became kind of addicted to those little things."

He noticed my coffee pattern? Seriously?

He sighed deeply and shoved his hands in his pockets for a moment. He looked out to the countryside again and paused. "What I'm trying to say in the midst of all of this is that I'm in love with you. I am sure of it. And it's not just because I love kissing you and I deeply aspire to see you naked someday and that there is palpable chemistry between us. It's because I want to do life with you forever. I want you to know Gabi and Andrew and the rest of the gang at Footprints and I want you to be Aunt Sharpay to Baby Orville."

Through the tears that had started to flow down my cheeks, I giggled a little.

He smiled and reached out for my hand. "I have no idea what it looks like or what your reaction to all of this is going to be but … it's not like you complete me or anything. That would mean that our lives were missing something and that's not right. I mean, I love my life as it is now. But I just know that from this point out? The best journey that I can imagine is with you."

"Troy…" I tried to interrupt.

"I mean, I know that we need plans and we need to figure out logistics. You live in Africa and I live in America and that's kind of a problem…"

That's it. The boy is rambling. Time to take matters into my own hands.

"Troy," I tried again and was ignored once more. So, I grabbed the back of his head and pulled his face down to mine.

The man had just professed his love for me? Like I wasn't going to kiss him?

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I pulled back and looked at her, "I wasn't finished."

"Yes, you were."

She kissed me again.

If this was how she ended discussions, this was going to be a fun relationship.

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"So just to clarify," she began.

"Oh, here it goes."

"Shut up."

"Fine."

"We are…"

"Together," I replied. "Joanie and Chachie, Luke and Lorelai, Troy and Sharpay – we're all in the same category."

"So you'll fly to New York at Christmas," she said.

"And you'll fly to California at New Years'," I finished.

"And we'll just see where it all goes from there."

I wrapped my arm a little closer around … my girlfriend… and she responded by snuggling a little deeper into my chest.

We were lying on her bed in the hotel, watching _A Walk to Remember_ of all things. It's what was on TV. After my intense declaration and her reciprocal one, there was more discussion and more making out and now there was just calm.

I liked calm.

"I have a job offer in the States," she said, a few minutes later, completely out of the blue. "I've had it for a while."

"What?"

"I'd want to go back to school and get my masters, but they'd pay for it."

What?

"I repeat again, Sharpay," I said, shifting positions so that I was facing her. "What?"

"There's a foundation… I think they're based out of somewhere in California… they want to pay me to start an organization that would connect college students with the work that I do over here. Provide pathways for internships is the phrase that they use. I'd kind of be the liaison between a whole bunch of international aid organizations and any American university students that wanted to volunteer overseas."

"Is that kind of like the Peace Corps?"

She made a face, "Sort of. Their point is that it's harder to do discipline-specific trips through the Peace Corps, so college internships are hard."

"What's the foundation? How'd they find out about you?"

My brain was spinning. This was completely… random…

"They're called These Numbers Have Faces and they've worked primarily with South African university students before. They provide funding for university students to go to school anywhere they want. They've been around for about ten years and they started branching out to providing American students with travel opportunities about four years ago," she fiddled with her fingernails. "I met their founder during an Oxfam employee retreat to Johannesburg a few years back."

"When did they offer it?"

She pulled a face, "About six months ago. I told them that I'd think about it."

"Well, what's there to think about?" I asked excitedly. "If they're based out of California, then maybe you could live in San Diego with us and…"

"It's a lot to think about, Troy," she snapped.

I was about to open my mouth again, when I saw her eyes brimming with tears. I chose to remain silent.

"I haven't lived, full time, in the US since I graduated from college," she continued. "I fit pretty well over here. I mean, I get lonely and I miss my family and I certainly miss peanut butter and mac and cheese, but I function pretty well over here. I know that I don't belong here… But, the times that I've gone back to visit Ryan or attend conferences… I've just felt so lost. I don't know if I belong there anymore, either."

I hadn't even thought of that. In my mind, Sharpay was American. Was it possible that she didn't think she was?

"I know that I belong to you," she whispered. "But I belong to you here. What if you're the only one? What if I don't really belong anywhere?"

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	13. Chapter 13

**Author Note:**

So, friends, I've re-written this chapter about six times.

Writing about Rwanda was harder than I could have ever imagined. I tried to explain all of it, but then it just sounded like a lecture… anyway, I checked the Wikipedia site and it's pretty accurate. I've got an academic paper on the genocide that I can send you as well if you're interested in all the nuances of what went down. Know that it was a mess and that every anthropologist that has ever studied it, just about, agrees that it was the fault of the colonizing countries.

It's an insanely beautiful country and politically stable now. I'd recommend going.

In other news, I hope you've learned to trust me by now that I'm not crazy and I know what I'm doing with them. Please review and let me know what you think…

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"Gabi," I took a deep breath.

"I guess that this is just so freaking out of the blue," she continued to ramble on. "I mean, you're dating Sharpay. You're even talking about marrying Sharpay. Sharpay. The girl who spent most of our high school relationship trying to break us up and now… well, I guess I'm just…"

"Gabi, do you want me to explain or do you want to just keep talking?"

"She's going to want to keep talking." I heard Andrew's voice come through the computer as well.

One of the beauties of modern technology is that I could have a conversation with a room full of people, as long as they all had access to the microphone and speaker on the computer.

"Shut up," she replied to her husband. "This is serious business. Troy doesn't just date people. If he's …"

"Gabi, he wants to tell us about the girl he's fallen in love with. Do you want to keep assuming the worst or trust our friend's judgment?"

"Guys," I yelled. "Do I need to be here for this argument?"

A few seconds later, they each replied with a 'sorry' and told me to continue telling them about Sharpay.

"Like I said already, Gabi, I need you to trust me that this is not the girl we went to high school with. She may have the same name and the same face, but she is not the same girl."

"I can accept that," Gabi responded. "I guess…"

"That you're just being overprotective?"

"I'm flipping you off right now," she replied.

"I expect nothing less," I laughed.

"So, you'll see each other when she comes out at Christmas?" Gabi asked.

"Yeah," I replied with more sadness in my voice then I intended. Sharpay and I had been fighting almost non-stop about her taking the job in California. I had made the mistake of looking up apartments in San Diego that were near my apartment. That had pushed her too far too fast and the past few days had been hell.

"As much as I love hearing about your love life," Andrew interrupted, "can you tell us quickly about Rwanda?"

I had really hoped that they weren't going to ask.

"Um, sure," I said shakily. "What do you want to know? I mean, I got good pictures and I did some interviews and…"

"Well, what was it like?"

Sharpay had said at one point that that would be my least favorite question ever. It was so open ended and people really didn't know what else to ask… but how did you possibly answer it?

"It was intense," I finally answered. "I mean, we stayed at Hotel Rwanda."

"What?"

"Yeah," I said, my voice slightly dead. I still wasn't sure that I had the proper emotion for that moment. "It was definitely surreal to sit at the edge of that pool and know…"

"That they had to drink out of it for water?" Andrew offered.

"Uh huh," I responded.

"Troy, is it too hard to talk about?" Andrew said, gently.

"No, I mean yes, but I need to," I replied. "I mean, if you don't think about it, Rwanda is just like any other country. It's absolutely beautiful and its people are beautiful as well. I loved driving through the countryside and stopping at the small markets and stuff."

"But then you remember."

"Exactly. You meet someone who doesn't have an arm or who has a gigantic scar down the middle of their face and you know. I mean, it's only been about twenty-five years. And realistically, their whole economy collapsed in 94, so their country is only twenty-five years old."

"How's infrastructure?" Andrew was always worried about infrastructure.

"Much better than it was when Sharpay lived here," I said. I went into some more mundane details until Gabi interrupted.

"Did you make it to the genocide museum?"

"Yeah, that was our third day. We took all day," I said. "I still don't have words for that day, to be honest. The pictures and the videos and the quotes… I don't understand how the international community could just turn their backs like that! I mean, Clinton and Kofi Anan, they had the data right there. They knew what was going on. And France? Sending more weapons? Seriously?"

"Yeah, it just sucks," Andrew replied.

"I think what makes me the most mad is that the Hutu/ Tutsi thing wasn't a big deal until the Belgians and Germans came and taught them to hate. It was like a class system before that and it … I don't know how to explain it exactly, but when colonialism took over, that's when all hell started to break loose."

"It's hard to stand in a war-torn country and know that they would have been just fine if everyone else had just stayed out," Andrew replied.

"When did we decide that different and other meant bad?" I asked.

"A long time ago," Gabi piped in. "That song is an old one."

"Yeah," I sighed. I noticed the time, "Hey guys, I'm sorry, but I've got to run. I'm getting picked up in a few moments."

"Okay, no worries," Gabi's reply came.

"Hakuna Matatta, Gabi!" I corrected her.

"Sorry!" she laughed. "We love you and we'll see you in a few days!"

I said my goodbyes as well and signed off of the computer. A few days and I'd be back in America.

Back to the land of fast-food and cable TV and the ability to drive myself wherever I wanted.

Why wasn't I completely thrilled?

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He was in a mood.

Oh, how I loved it when Troy was in a mood.

"Troy," I said gently.

"I'm fine," he snapped.

Right. And I'm a tarantella dancer in Spain.

"You know, we've been together for twenty-seven days straight. If you think that I don't know that you're lying, then you've been seriously underestimating me," I replied with a raised eyebrow.

He glared at me. "Sometimes, people tell you that they're fine because they don't want to talk."

"Sometimes people who don't want to talk could just say that instead of lying and saying that they're fine," I retorted.

We are fighting like preschoolers.

"Fine, then," he snarled, placing extra emphasis on the word 'fine'. "I'm not fine, but I don't want to talk about it."

What the hell had brought this on?

"Do we need to not be here today then? Because I do not need you teaching my favorite class of kids if you're going to be a bastard."

We were spending Troy's last day "on the job" at the Olympic School in Kibera. It was run by Vincent, Badi and Christine and was one of those places that lived hand to mouth. They were endowed by a group of graduate students in Texas who just couldn't let them close their doors, but the three administrators rarely had enough money to live. They volunteered their time to teach the ever-growing group of precious elementary school aged students.

I had taught fourth grade… or form five… for them last year and completely loved it, so I dropped back in every once and a while to visit. Troy and I had visited a few weeks ago and he had fallen in love with them all. He had asked while we were in Rwanda if he could go back and I had arranged for the two of us to take a day of teaching the form five students.

But now, I'm not sure I want to let the monster before me around people. He's beyond grouchy.

"I'll be fine once I see the kids," he replied.

"Well, I don't know if I want to take that chance," I replied.

"Well, I'm paying you to do whatever I want, so back off."

Why I do feel like he just called me his whore?

We had already been talking in hushed tones so that everyone else in the van couldn't hear us, but with what I was about to say, I wanted extra insurance. I leaned into him and wrapped my fingers around his forearm. I gritted my teeth and snarled into his ear, "Listen, you elitist yankee jackass, I don't know what the hell has gotten into you or what stunt you're trying to pull here and I don't care how much you think that Andrew paid Yusef for me to chauffer your ass around Kenya, but none of it matters right now. Right now, you are about to walk into a classroom full of real children with real lives and real problems and if you give any less than everything of yourself to them, so help me God I will kill you with my shoe. Do you understand me?"

He clenched his jaw and nodded. It was only then that I could feel that his breathing was completely erratic and his eyes were full of tears.

But I was too pissed off to care.

"I don't care if this is your shitty defense mechanism, Troy," I continued. "You have got four days left. Four days. This is your last day in Nairobi. You have got to lean in because saying goodbye early is just not an option. I will not allow you to disengage, do you hear me?"

His head snapped around and he wrenched his arm away from my grasp, "Excuse me, fount of wisdom and knowledge, but it hurts like hell. You're the one who gets to be here and live here and not have to deal with the shit in America and go back and try to put into the words the fact that you're different and everyone expects you to be the same. You could have, ten years ago, but instead, you just ran away."

Bastard.

"Maybe I did," I whispered back, praying to any deity that would listen that my tears would hold out. "But it wasn't because I was too scared to go back. It was because I wasn't done. I have never run from something because it was too hard. I have run towards things because they're what I have to do."

"Then move to San Diego."

"What?"

He turned to face me fully, "Move to San Diego. If you're not scared to go back, the run towards what's next."

I stared into his eyes and saw everything that I had fallen in love with. Why do I feel like my conversations with him are constantly going places that I don't want them to go. This one shifted completely. I thought we were fighting about one thing and we're fighting about another… it's like dating a woman.

"I cannot move to San Diego," I said. "We've talked about that. There's still so much to do here."

"There are other people who can do this work!"

"There are other people who can live in San Diego!"

It was out of my mouth before I could think and I could see his heart shatter. He turned away from me and stared out the window. "There is no one else that I'm in love with."

Dammit.

He wants me to move to San Diego just because he's in love with me? Just because I'm in love with him? I can't imagine my life outside of my work and I'm supposed to just pack up my life and move to California because we love each other?

Dammit.

Is it possible that I've completely screwed this up less than two weeks into it? That has to be a freaking record. I'm amazing.

All he's asking is for me to take an amazing job in Southern California, live miles away from the beach and never have to ration out my water ever again. Like that's such a big sacrifice?

As the van slowed to a stop and the kids ran to greet us, I knew the answer to my own question. Their smiling faces and sing-song voices answer the question for me as the smile they always produce spreads across my face.

It's the biggest sacrifice I could ever make.


	14. Chapter 14

**Author Note: **

As always, thanks for the feedback. Read and review it. 

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"You know, before I told you about the job with Numbers, we had a plan."

"I know."

"It wasn't a bad plan."

"Nope."

I knew that if I looked at her, I was going to loose it again.

We had promised each other a few days ago when we left for Mombassa that we wouldn't talk about "it". That it would be better to sit in silence than to get in the same fight over and over again for the last few days together.

But now we were on the train back up north to Nairobi. The two and half days that we had spent lying on the beach and relaxing and telling stories was over and now it was back to reality.

It was time to have the discussion. I knew that. I knew that it was time to be a man and own up the reality that was before me, but dammit, I want to ignore it just a little while longer.

"So why can't we just go back to the original plan?"

I sighed very deeply and finally brought myself to reach her eyes. "I suppose that we have to."

She was really restless; fiddling with the zipper on her jacket and tapping her fingernails on the window. She finally spoke. "It's not like this is my choice, Troy."

Oh, if she was going to pull that, then it's on.

I glared at her. "Of course you have a choice! It's your life! You always have a choice in your own life!"

"We've been over this, Troy, sometimes you don't have a choice."

I am so over this. "No, sometimes you're just too scared to make a choice."

We were both quiet for a long time and I watched the African landscape fly by. Finally, she broke the silence. "You don't believe me, do you?"

"That this doesn't affect me?" I said incredulously. "Sharpay, you're nuts."

She scowled. "When I say that it doesn't affect you, I'm not saying that me staying here doesn't affect you. Maybe affect isn't the right word…"

"Then what are you saying?"

"I'm saying that I don't want you to think that I'm choosing Africa over you," she finished.

"Well, that's completely different…" I sighed and rubbed my head. "Sharpay, you are choosing Africa over me. At the very least, you're choosing your job over me. Either way, you are choosing something over me."

"No!" She grabbed my hand. "I am choosing Africa over California. You don't factor into it."

It was like someone sucker punched me.

I don't factor at all?

At all?

I don't know what to do with that.

I run my fingers over hers for a few seconds as I blink back the tears that are accumulating in the corners of my eye. Finally, I found the words that were the closest to what I was thinking.

"You see, Sharpay, that's where I think we're always going to disagree a little," I kept my eyes on our hands as I spoke. "Because when I made my great declaration that night on the balcony, I was thinking that we would factor for each other. At least, when you kissed me, that's kind of what I thought you were saying you were on board for."

"Troy…"

"Because, darling Sharpay, correct me if I'm wrong, but I told you that I wasn't going to do this unless I was all in."

She was quiet for a second before she replied, "Yeah. You said that."

"Then okay."

"Okay what?"

I dropped her fingers and turned to look at her. "I need to know what is going on in your head and why I'm not a factor or why you're not as in as I am and why you're really not moving to California. Because I don't know if you're living in denial or if you're just wigging out or what the hell is going on, but you have to factor me in. I have to factor."

Silence filled our train compartment for a long time until finally I heard her whisper something.

"What was that?"

She looked at me, "I said that you do factor."

"Okay."

"You factor so much that it scares me," she said.

"Okay."

"Stop saying okay!" She yelled.

"I'm sorry! What do you want me to say?!"

"I don't know! Say that you love me or that you understand or something…"

I sighed. "I love you. But I don't know what the hell to do with you right now."

She started laughing.

Now that was something I wasn't expecting.

She giggled for a few moments longer and then noticed the bewildered look on my face. "I'm sorry," she said through the laughter.

I just kept staring. Was she on crack?

When she collected herself, she sighed and gave me a small half-smile. "I have no idea what to do with me either, Troy."

Okay, well, we definitely agree on something today.

"I need you to know that I had my life pretty settled last month. Last month, I had it all figured out. And then you showed up and it all went to shit."

I know the feeling.

"I knew that I was going to live here for a few more years and then take the next assignment as it came. I was starting to get ready to move closer to Ryan and Em and Sarah, but no where near ready to move back to the States. I love my life here. I love my job here. I love… I love what I do and how I do it," she finished.

"I know all of those things and they're things I love about you," I replied.

She smiled and continued, "And then you showed up and everything happened and all of a sudden I started dreaming about what our children's names would be and if we would go to Disney World on our honeymoon."

"Evan, Hannah and no," I interrupted.

She didn't even acknowledge me. "And those were things that I hadn't thought about in years. I haven't dated a man that I dreamed with since I lived in London. I'm ready for the whole package, Troy. I am. And I'm not at the same time."

"I see."

"No, you don't. Because here's the really confusing part," she said. "The part that will take me longer than a few days to sort out in my head. I don't feel ready to leave Africa. I don't feel that my time here is up. However, if we're talking next step of my life and all of that… I don't want to raise my children in Kenya."

This was news to me. "Really?"

She nodded. "I want my kids to know their family more than Sarah knows me."

"Ah."

"Exactly."

"So which one is more important?"

She paused for a few moments. "I know that I keep telling you that it's about belonging and it is. But it's bigger than that. I don't want to move to America and take a whole new job because of you. No matter how much I love you right now, we've only been whatever we are for a very short time and it seems really illogical to pack up my whole life for what could fall apart when you get back to America."

"But I'm telling you that it won't fall apart."

"I'm sure that Charles and Di said the same thing," she grinned. "Baby, seriously, be reasonable."

"So that's why you want to go back to the original plan," I said.

"If we survive until New Years', then we'll talk."

"And you'll interview in San Diego?" I asked, leaning in for a kiss.

She nodded as our lips met.

Why did I feel like there was still something that she wasn't telling me?

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	15. Chapter 15

**Author Note:**

I'm sorry that it's been so long between updates. Life has kind of gotten in the way of this world and I apologize. Thanks for the reviews, as always. I promise that I know what I'm doing. I think there's about five more chapters to go, so enjoy the countdown.

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_As I'm writing this, you're sitting on my couch, half asleep and watching _The Office_ on DVD. You're all slouched down and rumpled and I think that I've heard you grunt a few times. It's so adorable that I could just about eat you alive. You're also leaving me in about twelve hours. _

_I really don't want you to go. I want to tie you down or tear up your ticket or something and demand that you stay here with me. _

_And yet, I know that us being apart is my fault. I know that if was brave enough and if was honest with you about everything that we would be together. I know that tomorrow when you leave you'll have a million questions and I also know that I will not have a million answers. I will probably have none. _

_I know that you have probably heard a million "it's not you, it's me" speeches, but this one is real. You need to trust me. _

_No matter how much you doubt it, please know that I love you. No matter how much my actions seem to disagree with that statement, I really do. I love you more than I ever thought I could love someone again. I need you to trust me. _

_With all of my heart, _

_Sharpay_

The whole letter was about six pages, but said about the same thing over and over again. It tried to explain what had happened at the airport, but it completely failed.

Because seriously, I don't know what to do with that.

Everything was fine. We were saying goodbye at the airport and I launched into my well-prepared "this isn't goodbye, it's just see you later" and then she placed a finger on my lips and told me to stop.

She pressed an envelope into my hands and told me that it would explain everything. She then drew me into a long, luxiourious kiss – which I enjoyed thoroughly. However, I could feel her crying after a few minutes and she pulled back.

I'll never forget that moment as long as I live.

She looked me square in the face and said, "No, Troy. It is goodbye. It has to be. I love you, this letter explains everything."

And then she walked away and got back in the car before I could even react. I went through the motions of getting my boarding pass and checking in and getting on the plane – all the while knowing that my soul was dying.

I tried to journal and there just weren't any words. I tried to cry, but I felt too numb. So, instead, I put on my headphones and blared angry music as loud as I could.

What the hell?

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"I'm sorry, you did what?"

"I broke up with him," I whispered through my tears.

"And you did that why?"

"I'm…"

Dinah sighed and took a sip of her tea. "Girl, you best not finish that sentence with 'I don't know' or 'I'm not sure'."

This is why I called Dinah. She wasn't going to let me hide.

"And, baby, you know that I'm perfectly content to sit in silence until you feel like being honest."

Of course she was.

For the next half hour, I sat curled up on my couch, quietly crying into a pillow and Dinah busied herself cleaning my apartment and rearranging my bookshelf and other such things until I could finally talk.

"I was married once."

I heard a crash in the other room followed by an "excuse me?"

I sat up and rearranged my self. "The last year that I lived in London. No one knows."

Dinah came and sat next to me on the couch, "No one knows like not even Ryan?"

"No, he's the only one," I said. "It wasn't the greatest situation."

"Okay."

I took a deep breath, "His name was Nigel and I loved him. I loved him a lot. We, uh, we met at a fundraiser and I fell for him so quickly. He was my first a lot of things but he was definitely the first man who promised me forever and I believed him."

"That's hard not to believe, baby," Dinah soothed me.

"So we got married. I'm leaving a lot of stuff out, of course, but I promise you that I really did love him. And my love for him was as real as my love for Troy."

"So you do love Troy?"

"Dinah, I gotta finish this story before you can even begin to understand that one."

"Fine."

"It all started about a month after we got married, I guess. He got really angry one night and he started to… he started to…"

"No ma'am," Dinah interrupted. "He did not hit you."

I started to cry softly again and grinned through my tears. "When six months had passed, I had three broken ribs, a broken collarbone and a shattered vertebrae from when he threw me down the stairs."

"Oh, baby girl…"

"So, Ryan flew over and got me out of the house and our family lawyer got me a quick divorce and a restraining order and I took about a month off at Oxfam and holed up in New York with Ry and Em."

"Holy hell, Shar."

"Yeah, and then after my month off, I transferred to India. Mom and Dad paid a lot of money to seal my records and make sure that no one would ever find out and that he would never find me."

"Seriously, holy hell."

"Yeah," I nodded.

"So what does this mean for you and Troy?"

"I don't know."

"Goodness gracious, Sharpay! Does he know?"

"No, you're the first person that I've told since it happened," I replied.

"Can I…"

"Can you what?"

"Can I venture a guess as to what is going on in that pretty blonde nappy head of yours?"

I glared at her and rolled my eyes. "By all means."

"I think you freaked. I think that Troy started making the same promises that the asshole from London made and you freaked."

I didn't respond.

Mostly because she was right.

"I'm assuming that this is why you wouldn't promise him to move to San Diego, that you needed an out and that's bush league, Sharpay. You're better than that."

"Really? You really think that I'm better than that? I'm thirty-three years old and I'm single and I'm alone. You really think that I haven't done a whole hell of a lot in my life to make sure that I've stayed that way?"

"Oh please, child," Dinah sighed. "You are over the moon in love with Troy Bolton and you don't you dare tell me otherwise. If you are sitting here alone then of course it's your own fault because that boy offered you the world. And you're a damn fool to be hiding behind the excuse that an asshole broke your heart a long time ago. If you've got trust issues, it's not Troy's fault and you shouldn't be taking it out on him."

I glared at her for a few seconds and she glared right back.

Finally, I sighed. "You're right."

"I know."

My only reaction to that statement was to giggle and so I let myself laugh for a few moments. Until I found myself wrapped in her arms. One of the things that I loved about Dinah was her ability to be both my big sister and my mother all at the same time, with a splash of friend thrown in for good measure.

"Baby girl, you've got to sort yourself out. If he's worth the risk, like you say he is, then you've got some decisions to make."

"I know."

"Does he even know that your contract is up in January?"

"No."

She lightly smacked me upside the head. "Girl, what am I going to do with you?"

I sighed, "Well, right now, you're going to fix me dinner, because that's what you promised to do."

She laughed. "It's a macaroni and cheese day, isn't it?"

"Yeah, but no citrus fanta."

She nodded and made her way to the kitchen. "Why don't you pop in one of your Disney movies and wallow a little. You did just dump the boy that could make all of your dreams come true, after all. You deserve a little bit of wallowing."

I smiled sadly and made my selection. As the opening strains of _Beauty and the Beast_ resounded in my living room, I could feel the tears returning to my eyes.

I suppose that it's the flight or flight instinct that's bred so deep within us. I'm normally a fighter and until Nigel, fight would have been my natural inclination in every situation. However, I will regret not running from him every day for the rest of my life. There's a metal pin in my spine and I have a fake rib – that's how bad he beat me. Every time it rains or if I breathe too deeply, I can feel him. The first time that I had sex after him… my whole body was screaming with the reminder that I had trusted someone and that that had failed me. I was not going to make the same mistake again.

Every logical bone in my body told me that Troy was not Nigel and that he was worth the risk. And yet… I just couldn't bring myself to make that leap. So I wrote him a letter and put him a plane and sent him out of my life.

It would be wonderful to take that job in San Diego. As much as I can see myself staying here for longer, I've always known that I wasn't going to work for Oxfam forever. Maybe it is time.

And yet, there is so much need here.

And can I really base my major life decisions on a boy?

It's two totally different things and two totally different thought processes that are amounting to the same decision.

It was making my head and my heart hurt.

So for right now, I was just going to concentrate on the fact that I may have made the biggest mistake that I've made in a long time and I'm going to wallow. I'm going to wallow with my mac and cheese and my Disney movies and my friend Dinah. And I'm going to cry.


	16. Chapter 16

**Author Note:**

Geez, people! Back off! Some of us like to wallow with animated characters that sing and dance.

Seriously though, for all of you that were questioning Sharpay's coping mechanisms… just don't knock it till you try it. Disney movies have been life rafts for me.

Ya'll are lucky, two updates in one day! I saw an AWFUL movie tonight and so I spent most of it writing this chapter in my head. You lucked out. Thank Jodie Foster.

Thanks for being amazing reviewers. Please continue.

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"Troy, you are going to have to get off of my couch eventually."

"Your compassion overwhelms me, Gabriella."

She sighed deeply and continued to fold laundry. "Troy, it's been two weeks. I love you, but seriously."

I continued to flick through the channels aimlessly and finally shut the television off. "Listen, Gabi, I just…"

"Troy, we told you that you could recover here as long as you wanted but you haven't really moved off of the couch for a week and you're kind of starting to smell."

"Gabi…"

"I'm just saying that eventually we're going to have a baby in the house and we all know how much you love children."

"Actually," I said, "I kind of like kids now."

Finally she stopped and looked at me. "I'm sorry, what?"

"Well, we spent a lot of time with kids in Kenya and I really liked those, so maybe all kids aren't so bad."

She stared at me for a few minutes and muttered something under her breath.

"What was that?" I asked.

She sighed, "I said that I guess I didn't figure how much you'd change when we put you on the plane."

She had been a broken record for two weeks. Every time that I did something or said something that Gabi wasn't quite expecting, she'd remark on how different I was. But she had no idea at how deep the change went.

For the first few days, both she and Andrew were excited to hear all about the trip and then the excitement died down. My struggle to live in both the world that I left behind and the world that I was commanded to belong to became mindless whining and I could tell that they weren't that interested.

I tried to watch television, but the rampant consumerism and individualism just made me throw up in my mouth a little and actually vomit twice (I stumbled onto reruns of _The Hills_ and those girls just make me want to die). I tried to watch movies, but I couldn't seem to actually care about any of the plotlines. They all seemed too small in the face of the stories that I had found myself in over the past month.

Then, beyond dealing with re-entry and just trying to be an American again, there was the whole Sharpay thing.

Because seriously, what the hell. The woman tells me that she loves me and lets me make plans and declarations and practically tells me that she has been in love with me since like the, what, seventh grade and then breaks it off and doesn't really give me a reason why? What the hell. When did I stumble into a bad episode of _Saved By the Bell_? Cue Zach and Kelly and the prom break-up scene. Seriously.

And for the cherry on top of that delicious sundae, Gabi was not really good at being pregnant. Or, I guess I should say that Gabi's body was not all that good at being pregnant. She was about four and a half months along and was having some pretty major problems. I don't think she's actually at a high-risk pregnancy yet, but she's miserable and hormonal and the rest of us are suffering right along with her.

My life equals amazing right now.

"Yeah, well," I finally answered her after a long silence, "I'm sorry that I'm not what you expected."

She looked at me strangely. "What?"

"You've been saying that for two weeks, Gabi, that I've changed and all of that. Obviously, you're disappointed and I just wanted to apologize."

I could see that something clicked in her head and she came and sat next to me on the couch. "It's not that, Troy. It's just, well, I don't know. I mean, I don't know how to love you right now. You've changed a lot and I don't know how much of it is temporary and the fact that you're still processing and how much of it is permanent and what to do with all of that. Seriously, Troy, you freaked out in the middle of Target last week."

"There was just so much food," I said softly. "So many things that we don't need that we buy that they'll never have."

She paused and placed her hand soothingly on my back. "I know."

I nodded and swallowed the tears that had been gathering a lump in my throat. Gosh, I felt like such a useless drone right now. But seriously, all I wanted to do was get back on a plane or just sit in my room and cry. I didn't have any energy to do anything else. I felt completely uncomfortable in my own skin and I had no idea what to do with any of it.

Gabi broke my thoughts, "Have you tried to write the article?"

Andrew had asked me last week to write a short article to go along with my photos for the next issue. He wanted it mostly to be a journal as there were actual reporters who were going to be writing the articles on the state of Sub-Saharan Africa.

"I've written the first line," I replied.

She smiled sadly. "When we got back from Bolivia the first time, I didn't want to talk to anyone because no one would understand, but I wanted to talk to everyone because I needed them to understand."

"Exactly," I said. "That's exactly how I feel!"

She nodded and got up off the couch. A few minutes passed and she came back into the living room and handed me my laptop. "Give in to the second one."

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_As I sit here on my comfortable, safe couch in my comfortable, safe suburb, I don't know where to start. I could regale you with stories of adventures and how I found family an ocean away and how my beverage consumption has been changed. I could tell you all about bumpy African roads and how much fun it is to ride for six hours to the Mara while bracing yourself to not get concussions on the metal frame of the van. I could tell you about amazing coffee and delicious food and the satisfaction that comes from eating fish that had just been caught for you. But none of those things could possibly encompass our journey through Africa._

_My journal is full of stories of smiling children who have no reason to smile - clutching my hand and leading me through piles of trash and rivers of sewage as we journeyed through the slums to their homes. Stories of women and men of faith who have been handed the death sentence of HIV/AIDS and said in quiet confidence that God always provides and that they were not scared. Stories of schools where teachers teach despite having no paychecks and students share school supplies because there are not enough to go around. Stories of genocide survivors who have chosen forgiveness instead of vengeance and have made any of my thoughts about the subject just cheap words._

_There are smells that I will never forget - raw sewage mixing with rotting vegetables and human waste all roasting together in the African sun. The overwhelming smell of ugali and maize and rice - their main staples of food that made me gag, but that they are overwhelmingly thankful for. What the Mara smells like after it rains; just like new life and the promise of beginnings. The smell of the outhouse at Beacon of Hope when it had filled up and become covered in mealworms and the students had no where to use the restroom, so they found a concrete slab and used that instead. The distinct smell of Africa; not to mention the distinct smell of all of us who hadn't quite gotten a proper shower or clean clothes in quite a number of days. _

_The sights are emblazoned into my memory banks as well. The insanity of the market on Sunday. What it looks like to watch a lion stalk its prey. How overwhelming it is to stand on the overlook and view Kibera and know that about a million people live in abject poverty right there at your feet. The mist resting on the mountain tops in northern Rwanda. Driving along and watching the women carry everything they own on their heads with the utmost dignity and grace. The twisted and emaciated body of a woman who was ravaged with the virus. The photos of the genocide._

_The sounds of the children calling out as we pass - "Muzungu! (White Person) How are you!" in their precious sing-song voices that drove me crackers a few times that we were there but that I would pay so much for to hear again. The rapid pace of languages that I can't begin to understand. Hearing children sing in Swahili or K'Rwandan and know that that's what heaven sounds like. The fast pace of sewing machines at Amani Ya Juu and Beacon of Hope and Widow's Might and knowing that those machines are providing sustainable income for women who would otherwise have no hope of it. _

_It is also full of yelling. How did any of this start? When did it become okay for both Orange County, California and all of its opulence and Kibera and all of its poverty to exist in the same world? When did an African life become of less worth than a British or American one? How do we begin to make a change? When does all the madness end?_

_I've been home for two weeks and two days and I'm discovering that these questions may never have answers. I'm also discovering that there is no going back to the man that I was before I went. I can no longer live as though I am the only inhabitant of the planet or as though I am entitled to be as wasteful and extravagant as I want. I can't ignore the tragedies in countries I can't name because I convince myself that they do not affect me. The truth is that they do affect me, or at least they should. Shame on me and us for believing that speaking English is a prerequisite for care. _

_I was once told that people often buried their hearts in Africa and that they would spend the rest of their lives looking for what they left there. Friends, that is a true statement. It's as though I have cut off a very important piece of my soul and given it the people who shared their lives with me. I will never regain that piece, I will simply now need to live life as an amputee. I am ruined forever for Africa. Ruined forever in the best way possible. _

_Please believe me when I say that I am not ruined forever because I pity them, far from it. I now pity myself. While I have experienced the depth of injustice and have seen what truly ugly things human beings can do to each other, I have also been a part of the true beauty of human love. The way that lives are lived for each other – in community – is far more healthy and more beautiful than anything I have experienced here. I know that my life is so empty. I have crammed it so full of my stuff and my junk that I have left very little room for life. It was Africa who taught me that. She has ruined me forever to live like she taught me. To live each day to the fullest. To love each person as though they were the most important. To treat each person with dignity and respect and love. To protect and provide. To live in a state of welcome. That this world really would be a better place if we were all nicer to each other, had more time for our friends and family and were less concerned about useless things. _

_I know that I will never have answers for my questions as I learn to live my new life as an amputee. However, I also know that there are changes that I can make to my life here. I can be kinder and more welcoming and more generous with my time and my resources. I can take the time to slow down and savor the moments that matter. I would encourage you to do the same and to find the beauty in being ruined forever. _

I had been fiddling with my fingernails and trying very hard not to be nervous the whole time that Andrew was reading aloud. Now that he was done, I found it hard to make eye contact and it didn't really help that the whole room was silent.

Some of the senior staff at Footprints and their families had gathered at Gabi and Andrew's house for dinner to celebrate the launching of the first issue under Miller and my return from Africa. I had just finished showing a brief slideshow of my pictures and telling a few stories and Andrew asked if he could read my article out loud. The issue had gone to print that morning, so only a few people had seen it.

Now, I looked around the room to see everyone crying. Many were trying very hard to hide it, but they were crying. Gabi was grinning through her tears and when I caught her eye, she winked at me.

When Andrew and Gabi had first read the article, they joked that I had stolen their line. I pretended to not know what they were talking about, but then confessed to reading that note in the front of my journal almost every day. Of course, that made hormonal Gabi even more of a mess.

The party was exactly a month since I had landed. Which also means that it was one month and two days since I had last talked to Sharpay. I had written her two emails that I had never sent, but she hadn't done anything. I don't know why I'm expecting her to, I mean, she's the one who dumped me for no apparent reason.

I said the appropriate amount of goodbyes and then made my way home. I stared at the computer for a long time and then went and got ready for bed. I tossed and turned for a little while before getting up and turning the computer on. I logged onto my email and sent a quick missive.

_Shar – _

_I've got questions. You've got answers. We need to talk. _

_I'll call your Skype account tomorrow at 10pm your time. I'll try every night at 10pm until we talk. _

_I'm not giving up. _

_I still love you. _

_Troy_

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My computer dinged, letting me know that a new email had arrived. My heart started beating out of my chest when I saw the address, but it stopped completely when I read the message.

Shit.

He's calling?

Tonight?

Shit.

I am not ready for this.

Shit. Holy Christ on a Cracker. Shit.

I picked up my phone and sent a quick text message.

_D – T wants 2 call 2nite. Help! S_

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	17. Chapter 17

**Author Note:**

Yeah, I know this one took a while. Sorry about that. I'll try to be better in the future…

As always… read and review. Your opinions warm my soul…

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"Sweet baby Jesus lying in a manger," Dinah swore.

"I know."

We both sat in silence for a few more moments.

"How many times has he called?"

"Six," I replied.

I had started a new habit in the past week – chewing the crap out of my nails. I had worked my right pointer finger in particular down the cuticle. Not a pretty sight.

"Are you planning on talking to him any time soon?"

I continued to chew on my nail and refusing to make eye contact with Dinah.

"You do realize that I make good on my promises, right?"

That's exactly what I was afraid of.

That first day – when I had texted Dinah – she had told me to talk to him. Unfortunately, that night, when Troy had called, I had been… washing my hair. Was it really my fault that I had this uncontrollable urge to be clean at exactly 9:55pm? No. Not at all.

She had informed me the next day that I one week to call him or she would.

Aka, I had to answer my Skype tonight when he called or Dinah would contact him tomorrow.

"Dinah, I mean, I'm just not sure."

"Sure about what, honey child? The man is in love with you and you are in love with him. You have baggage. Inform him of the baggage and let's all move on with our lives."

"As always, thanks for your overwhelming support."

She sighed, "Sharpay. Dear heart. Love of my life, song of my heart, sister from another mother. You have got to figure out how much you want this. If you want this, then I'm just going to need you suck it up. If you don't, then be a pansy and email him and tell him that it's over. Either way, this ends tonight."

I continued chewing on my nail for a few more minutes and finally muttered a "fine".

"And seriously, stop chewing on your fingers. Gross."

I chuckled and tucked my hands underneath my thighs.

So, it's going to end tonight.

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"How many times have you called her?"

"Six. This is about to make seven."

"And you're planning on stopping this insanity when?"

"When she answers," I replied.

Gabi snorted and went back to scrubbing the tiles in the kitchen. Today, the hormones were making her feel the need to clean absolutely everything. Once she had gotten done with her house, she had come over to mine.

I opened my computer and signed on. I clicked the name and prepared myself to hear the computerized voice tell me that the user I was trying to contact was not available when something magical happened.

I heard Sharpay's voice instead.

And promptly fell off the chair in shock.

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"Troy?! Are you there?"

Bastard. I finally get up the courage to accept his damn call and he…

"I'm here, I'm sorry, I .. I fell off the chair."

I bit back a smile. "You fell off the chair?"

"Yeah. One of my finer moments."

"Yeah."

Silence. Aching, awkward silence.

"Sharpay, I'm glad that you picked up."

"I'm not sure that I'm glad."

"Oh. Wow. There's honesty," he laughed.

My eyes were locked on the picture I had framed next to my bed. It was taken one day at Beacon and was the two of us, draped in adorable children, holding hands and gazing at each other. If I had to visually describe our relationship, I would always choose this picture. I loved it.

As I stared at it, I felt my eyes filled with tears and heard Dinah's words echoing in my head. It was now or never.

"That's kind of a lie," I admitted.

"Well, someone's bipolar today," he remarked.

"Troy."

He sighed, "Sharpay, I'm sorry. I didn't mean to… What I mean is…"

"No, I get it. This kind of sucks."

"The fact that we have to have this conversation? Or the fact that we're on two different sides of the world?"

"Both."

He laughed. Oh damn, how I missed that boys' laugh.

"I miss you."

"I miss you, too," I admitted.

I could hear him sigh deeply on the other end of the internet. I knew that he was running his hand through his hair – probably his left one – and fiddling with his nails just like he knew that I was chewing the crap out of my lower lip.

"Shar, you owe me the end of the sentence," came the quiet reply.

"What sentence?" Even though I knew exactly what he was talking about.

"In Kigali, when I was vague and awkward, you told me that I owed you the end of the sentence. You were on my bed and I was naked? Perhaps you remember the moment?"

"Vividly," I replied.

"That's what I thought. I mean, few women ever recover from the sight of me in a towel."

I snorted, "This is how you want to start this conversation?"

"Right, sorry," he laughed a little. "Anyway, I think it's my turn to demand the end of the sentence. Or, more accurately, the real reason behind the worst letter of my life."

"Right."

More silence.

"Did I ever tell you that I was married?"

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What. The. Hell.

"You're married now?"

"No! Good lord, no. But I have been."

She's been married? Married? As in married?

"No, dear, I believe you left that detail out of your life story," I managed to say without freaking out too much.

"Yeah, I tend to do that."

Silence.

How the hell was I supposed to respond to that?

"Is that the explanation of why you broke up with me?"

She sighed deeply, "Yes and no."

More silence.

"Sharpay, I love you, you know that, right?"

"Right?"

"And my love has no bounds, right?"

"Right."

"Woman, you are testing that statement with this whole pausing after revealing ridiculous information thing."

She laughed and I fell in love with her all over again. "Sorry, I guess… I just… Okay, here's how I think that I can do this."

"Okay."

"It's my turn to talk and you listen, how does that sound?"

"Well, your tone of voice sounds a little S&M so if this story heads that direction…"

She laughed, "Shut up, Bolton."

I smiled, "What's up, Sharpay?"

There was some more silence, but I heard her start a word a few times and knew that this silence was almost holy in its preparation. If she needed some time to figure out what to say, I could be patient.

Finally, I heard her start to cry. I was about to ask if she was okay when I heard her voice break through her own sorrow.

"When I lived in London, I met a man named Nigel Farnsworth. He was kind of amazing."

I really could not see this story ending any way but badly.

"We met at a fundraiser for work, his parents are pretty wealthy. He was a school teacher at the time and I found him… oh this is awkward… really sexy."

I chuckled a little, "It's okay, Shar. I have, in my past, found other women attractive."

She chuckled a little and I could hear her voice get calmer. "He was the first man who promised me things – things like the future and a life together. He was the first person who knew the "new" Sharpay and was pretty crazy about her and before I knew it, we were engaged."

"Engaged?" It was out of my mouth before I could stop it.

"Yeah, patience was not a virtue," she remarked. "I don't know, Troy, I mean, he was… he just… I could see myself growing old with him. And not just growing old, but growing old well. Our dreams seemed to fit together and I was pretty damn smitten."

"Understandable."

"We ended up eloping one weekend in Blackpool and started our life together pretty quickly."

Wait. She had been married? What?

Not allowing me any time to process this, Sharpay barreled on with her story. "I guess it was about a month after we got married. Nigel had been out with the boys – it was becoming more and more frequent for him to do that instead of be home with me – and I had gotten home late as well. Another man from work had driven me home and Nigel saw me get out of his car. Man, he was completely plastered. I remember smelling the alcohol in the hallway of our flat and wondering if he had spilled some on his clothes instead of in his mouth…"

Like I said, I could not see this ending any way but badly.

"He asked who the bloke was and I responded that it was just some guy from work and he said 'is it some guy that you're fucking behind my back?' which was just about the most left-field question ever, but before I knew it, he had slapped me across the face and was calling me a whore."

Three deep, calming breaths, Troy. Deep calming breaths.

"I went to work the next day with a black eye. I'm pretty sure that my cheekbone had shattered, but it must have healed itself because it never showed up on any of the other x-rays."

"Other x-rays?"

"Yeah," her voice dropped a bit. "When six months had passed, I had three broken ribs, a broken collarbone and a shattered vertebrae from when he threw me down the stairs."

"HE THREW YOU DOWN THE STAIRS?! MOTHER FUCKER I SWEAR THAT …"

"Troy, I need you to stop yelling," I heard her voice through the computer. "You're… I just need you to stop."

I sighed. "I'm sorry."

She sighed, "Are you going to ask why I didn't leave him?"

"It's a question, yes."

"I loved him, Troy. I loved him deeply and truly and passionately. He promised me forever and how was I so sure that someone else would come along and promise me that again? I took self-defense classes and learned to cope because I was petrified that no one else would love me like he promised to love me."

I licked my lips and pondered a response to that. "When did you realize …"

"That that's ridiculous?" She interrupted. "After the stairs incident. I was in the hospital. Ryan and Emily flew over and moved me out of mine and Nigel's flat. They didn't give me the option to go back to him until I could logically explain why he felt that he had a right to hit me like that. Of course, I couldn't, so I left him."

"How did he take that?"

"Not well, exactly," she stammered. "I think that Ryan standing there with a loaded semi-automatic pistol is really all that kept Nigel from beating the living shit out of me."

"As it should."

She laughed a little before continuing. "So, Mom and Dad freaked out, of course, and to make a very long story short, they paid a lot of money for my marriage to disappear and for Nigel to never be able to find me again."

"Did you press charges?"

"No, and that's something that I regret. I wonder if he is hurting someone else now," she said quietly. "I just needed to get the hell out of London, so I transferred to India."

"Wow, Shar."

"Yeah."

I didn't really know how to react to that or how she wanted me to or really what that had to do with me… so I sat there and waited for her to start talking again.

"I've dated other men since Nigel, but you were the first man that I started to dream with. You were the first who made plans and the first who I… and it kind of scares the shit out of me."

I paused for a moment, "Are you afraid that I'm going to …"

"No!" She exclaimed. "I trust you so much and I know that you love me and that you'd never hurt me and… that you're not Nigel. I know that. But, Troy, it took me six months to be able to look another man in the face after Nigel and about two years to be alone with one. And we were moving pretty fast and for a while it felt fine… and then it felt familiar and…"

"And you panicked."

She was quiet for a moment. "Yeah. I panicked."

I was quiet and then managed to say the only thing that really mattered. "Do you still love me?"

I heard her take a shaky breath, "Yeah."

"Are you sure?"

"Yeah. Do you still love me?"

"Yeah," I smiled. I'm not sure why she thought I had stopped… but if assurance was what she needed…

"So what do we do now," she asked.

"Now? Now we wait."

"Wait?"

"You come home in six weeks and two days. I've got some things to sort out here, but six weeks is not awful to wait. Can you handle it?"

"Yeah," she sounded a little confused.

"Promise me that you'll still love me in six weeks," I said.

"I'm pretty sure I can guarantee that," she giggled.

I laughed and we continued the conversation, simply catching up on each other's lives. I made fun of her a little for running and she made fun of me a little for acting like a girl about it. We both laughed a lot and I remembered all over again why I love this woman.

Because I do. I love this woman.

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	18. Chapter 18

**Author Note: **

I think that we're getting ready to wind this one down… if there's anything left that you desperately want written about (baby showers, birth, engagement, etc) or explanations to things … please let me know. I take your thoughts into consideration, I promise!

Your feedback, currently, is rocking my world. Seriously. You're keeping this poor grad student going.

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"Troy, I just don't think I understand where you're going with this."

I nodded in understanding. "I suppose I just want to know what it would look like for me to take more of a supervisory role than being responsible for all of the art in the issue, like I am currently."

Andrew furrowed his brow and paused. He picked up the koosh ball that always lived on his desk and started messing around with it. After a few moments, he threw it at me.

"Dork."

I laughed and threw it back at him, "It's not a difficult question, Andrew!"

"Well, it wouldn't be if you would just ask it."

I stared him down. "Fine."

He smirked, "I'm waiting."

"Is it possible for me to move to Nairobi for a little while and still work here?"

"And why do you want to move to Nairobi, Troy?"

I'm going to kill him.

"I want to live on the same continent as Sharpay."

He laughed, "And there it is."

"Bastard."

"Of course."

"I also figure that these shots are good for a few years and I should get more out of them then just a month."

"Also an excellent point."

"So, your thoughts?"

He paused. "There's a lot of levels to this thing, Troy."

"I know."

"I mean, of course I can let you go. We own the damn company. As long as you live somewhere where you can check your email every day, I don't see why you can't do your work over there."

"Yeah."

"But there's no way in hell that I could let you go until my son is born."

I smiled. "You must remember that I live in fear of your wife on a daily basis."

"As you should."

We both started laughing and making comments about Gabi and how much we both kind of live under her control and then finally, he took a deep breath.

"So, how about this," Andrew pulled out a piece of paper and started scribbling notes to himself on it. "How about we say that you'll try to be over there by April 1st. That gives us time to really sort things out and also time for you to spend time with my kid."

"And to help you figure out how to be a dad," I smirked.

"As if you know what the hell you're doing," Andrew responded.

"Of course not. But everyone loves me and you take getting used to. Only logical that I'll be better at fatherhood than you," I laughed.

He made a face and threw the koosh ball at me again.

"Sad day, Morales! You're reduced to physical violence as a come back!"

"Shut up," he laughed.

We were interrupted by his computer alarm going off. We both checked our watches and realized that it was time to go.

"Damn, we're going to be late."

"She's going to kill you!"

"Me? She demanded your presence!"

"I'm not the one who knocked her up!"

"Whatever, she's going to kill both of us."

"Not if I beat you there!" I yelled as we both took off down the hallway to get to our cars.

I heard our assistants remark that we would never grow up as we both flew past them.

Growing up is so overrated.

&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&

"Gabi, Andrew, are you sure?"

Gabi threw Andrew a look and I could see that she tightened her squeeze on his hand.

"We're sure."

Gabi was about six months along but they've been hemming and hawing about whether or not they wanted to know the sex of the baby. It went back and forth. But now, they were getting to the point where they realized that decorating the nursery and buying clothes would be easier if they knew what it was.

"Okay, then just hold on a minute and I'll get your baby to turn a little."

Gabi and Andrew were intertwined together and I was standing just behind them. As the ultrasound machine started it's magic, Gabi reached back and felt around for my head.

"Troy."

"Yes, Gabriella."

She pulled a little and I knew that eye contact was necessary. As I shifted around, I realized that I knew that look.

She was scared.

Gabi was scared.

Someone take note of this moment, because it didn't happen often.

"What's up, Gabi?"

She blinked back tears a few times and then kissed the top of my forehead. "I just needed to know that you were there."

"Always."

She nodded back and reached for my hand. She squeezed so hard that I may have lost circulation.

I realized after a few seconds that I was flexing my other hand, as though I was searching for something. Then I realized that I was searching for Sharpay. This moment was missing her.

My whole world was missing her.

Three weeks, four days. Three weeks, four days.

The doctor's voice drew me back to the exam room. "Well, Gabi, Andrew. I'd like to introduce you to someone."

We all had a sharp intake of breath.

"A boy," Gabi breathed out reverently.

"We're going to have a boy," Andrew echoed.

"Orville," I whispered under my breath.

&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&

"Yeah?"

"Orville."

I shrieked so loudly that it echoed in the small restaurant that I was in. Yusef and I were having dinner to discuss some of my future options, but I had been staring at my cell phone for the past twenty minutes, waiting for Troy's call.

Yusef smiled and continued to eat his meal. He shook his head in laughter and I knew that he was thinking that I had become more American since falling in love with the photographer. Many people at Oxfam claimed that, actually.

"Healthy?"

"Both he and Gabi are doing great," Troy assured me.

"Is the due date still the same?"

"Yeah, they're figuring about February 15th."

"Excellent."

"Well, I'll let you get back to dinner. Call me when you're done."

"Will do."

As we hung up, I realized that I loved that he knew that he was calling in the middle of my dinner with Yusef. I also deeply loved that he told me that it was a boy by using the name that I had used! Gosh, how much did I love this man?!

"Sharpay," Yusef's voice cut through my thoughts.

"It's a boy," I grinned.

"Excellent."

We both went about the business of eating for a few moments, when Yusef broke the silence. "Shall we continue?"

I pursed my lips, "Sure."

"Like I said, I have been asked by the board to ask you why you will not renew your contract."

"It's complicated."

"Well un complicate it."

I paused for a moment and drank in my surroundings. The family sitting next to us was obviously wealthy as they were dressed in trendy western clothes. A few other fellow eaters were dressed in more traditional Kenyan garb, and the heavily accented English mixed with pure Swahili made me wonder if I really ever could leave this place.

I had given my heart to Kenya in ways that I had not done so anywhere else. Some of it was the fact that the Kenyan people were more open and hospitable than some of the other cultures I had lived in. I had been invited to simply do life along side of people in refreshing ways here.

It's something that Troy and I had talked about, actually, after going to visit Pascal and Dinah. They don't have a latch on their gate and it's not because they're not afraid for their safety. They pay a local boy to watch out for their house – partially to give him gainful employment and partially because it's a necessity. However, they keep the gate unlatched because they never want anyone to feel that they are not welcome or that there is a barrier between them and the Ovindas.

It's something that I want to do in my house, somehow, whenever I have one and whoever I have it with. Something to symbolize and communicate that all are welcome at all times. I've even thought long and hard about how to communicate community in my wedding.

Not that we're really anywhere near ready to get married. And it's not like I've been looking at bridal websites every day for the past week or anything…

"Sharpay," Yusef gently recalled me to the room and the matter at hand.

"Right, sorry, I got lost in my thoughts."

He smiled and patiently waited for me to continue.

"A very real reason is that I have been doing this work for about a decade and I'm exhausted. The day to day reality of wrestling with this monster is just kind of getting to me and I need a break," I remarked.

"We are prepared to offer you a sabbatical," he replied.

"And if that were the whole reason that I was leaving, I would take it in a heartbeat, dear friend."

"I see. Please continue."

"There is also the matter of my family. I know that my parents don't really factor into this, but I miss Ryan and Emily and Sarah. The older Sarah gets, the more I want to be a regular reality in her life. Also, I'd like to think about starting my own family."

Yusef paused, "May I be so bold, then? This is about the Troy."

I smiled at his use of the random definite article. "Yes, this is partially about the Troy."

He nodded once again and I could see the slight disappointment on his face. He couldn't bear the thought of me abandoning them for some boy, I knew, but I also knew that he didn't really understand where I was at emotionally.

"Yusef, regardless of if Troy and I work out and do the forever thing, I still believe that leaving is the right decision for me right now."

"How so?"

This was the stuff I was scared to say. This was the stuff that I was scared he would judge me for and would have every right to, actually.

"Yusef, I don't know how much of me is still running from that awful thing that happened in London."

Although I had never told Yusef the details of my marriage, Oxfam had given him so basic details about my emotionally fragile condition. I suppose that it should have spoken volumes to me that even seven years later, I was labeled as unstable.

"You see, I have just always moved whenever I felt myself getting close to people again. I think that I thought if I kept running, I would never be forced to fall in love again and never be… well… that's getting into details. But I'm not sure that my reasons for coming and my reasons for staying are all that pure."

He nodded empthathetically. "You have never been anything less than excellent at our job, though, Sharpay."

That brought tears to my eyes, "Thank you, Yusef. That is due in large part to you."

He scoffed that off, as I knew he would.

"Having the Troy here made me realize that there are a lot of things in my past that I'm not the most proud of and things that even scare me a little. While his reaction to this things in his life is to accept them and face them and deal, mine has been to run. I think that it's time for me to stop running."

"Then how will leaving Nairobi serve that? Won't you simply be running again?"

"Actually, no," I smiled. "I realized a little while ago that I could legitimately stay here for the rest of my natural life and be perfectly okay with it. I am petrified, however, to return to the states."

"So this is a personal decision more than a professional one," Yusef sumized.

I nodded, smiling a little. "Troy mentioned that it would be great if I could work with university students to help them clarify their calling in life, just as mine was clarified in Papua New Guinea. That sounds rather exciting. To be honest, I think I'm at a place in my life where I'm ready for a new adventure. The adventure of being an American again and living in the tension that I've been avoiding…"

He smiled. "I did not expect to come to this dinner and be proud of you for leaving us. That is how I find myself now."

The tears that had just been brewing on the tips of my eyelids came spilling over at that point. This was about the last reaction that I expected from Yusef.

He wasn't done, however. "Sharpay, you are a beautiful, brilliant woman. Your many talents and gifts will obviously take you wherever you want to go, but I agree with you that you can only go as far as your heart will let you. It is a very wise decision to take time to decide who you are outside of you job and it is indeed the scariest journey of all. It shows true strength of character that you are willing to take that journey and I would be a fool to stand in your way."

I bit my lip to stop myself from sobbing and instead whispered a quiet, "thank you."

We sat in silence for a few moments and I could hear quiet murmuring. I knew that Yusef was praying for me in Swahili and while that usually slightly annoyed me, it made this moment work. I could hear him ask his god for blessing upon my life and my journey and also for me and my Troy.

You know those few moments in life that you remember with so much detail because they are some how sacred? The ones that, twenty years after, you can remember what the air smelled like? This was one of those moments.

I savored it deeply as Yusef finished his prayer. I reached for his hand and squeezed it, thanking him for his understanding and grace.

He nodded and then smiled and then began to laugh.

"What is it, Yusef?"

"All of a sudden, I realize that this means that I must travel to America for your wedding and to bless your children whenever you have them. All this time, I have been thinking that I will never have to get on an airplane and now you will have me on one all the way to America!"

Leave it to Yusef to think of that.

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	19. Chapter 19

Author Note:

Friends, I am so sorry that this has been so long. Life got in the way – including working on my thesis proposal. (Which is in the official review stages… cross our fingers) I'm not especially happy with this chapter, but I wanted to give you guys something before I disappear into my books again. My last papers are due this week, so I plan to write like a fiend on the flights home for Thanksgiving.

As always, thanks so much for your amazing feedback. Even when I'm not updating, y'all keep commenting. Amazing. Best readers ever.

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Seven years of life packed into two suitcases and a small shipping crate. Within those boxes were yards of fabric that were hand woven for me by women I had worked with, pictures of the children I had taught, and a very small bag of dirt so that some of Kenya's soil could be in my yard in California, among other things. And it all smelled like home.

As I'm standing here at Nairobi International, checking in at the Kenya Airways gate, I'm still not entirely sure that I know what I'm getting myself into.

Through an amazing series of events, I didn't end up taking the job that I was initially offered that got this whole adventure off the ground. Instead, Yusef lobbied for me to be transferred to Oxfam America and be hired on as an Education Specialist. I honestly didn't realize until I read the job description that "Education Specialist" was what I had wanted to do all along.

After a six-week vacation that Oxfam was giving me to re-enter into American life, it would be my job to travel around the country to colleges, universities, high schools, community centers; basically wherever would let me speak, and tell them about the rest of the world. Specifically, of course, the HIV/AIDS pandemic, as that's my area of specialty, but my new supervisor had informed me that I would be expected to be an expert on a wide range of social justice topics. So, along with my luggage from Africa, my new apartment would be filled with briefing memos.

Of course, as is only logical to myself, I haven't told Troy any of this.

"Miss Evans, here is your boarding pass for London," the gate agent interrupted my reverie. "Your bags are checked through to Los Angeles, but you will need to check in again with the British Airways gate attendant in London." The pleasant woman handed me an envelope full of tickets and receipts and my passport. I thanked her and took a deep breath before turning around.

Yusef, Dinah, Pascal and about fourteen other people were waiting behind me for one last goodbye. I tried to savor every moment, but many of their faces are blurry to my memory as they were clouded by my tears.

I will forever, however, vividly remember what Dinah told me as she hugged me for the last time.

"Now you listen to me, honey child," she whispered fiercely into my ear. "When you see that boy, you grab him and you kiss him and don't you dare come up for air until you absolutely have to. Repeat that cycle for the rest of your life or so help me, I will swim across the Atlantic if I have to in order to kick your scrawny white ass."

Through laughter that was mixed with tears, I assured her that that was in my plan.

I stepped back from her embrace and bit my lip. Looking at everyone who had gathered to see me off one last time, I closed my eyes slowly and took a deep breath. I tried to speak, imagining that I would impress them with words of collective wisdom and thanks. However, when I opened my mouth to speak, my throat was clogged with tears.

"You'll just never know," I started before having to compose myself again. "None of you will ever know how much you have shaped me and how much you have my heart, forever. I will never be able to… " I dissolved into tears again, but I could tell from the looks on everyone's faces that they knew what I was saying. There were nods of understanding all around and even more tears.

Okay, seriously, if I don't leave now, I might just stop breathing.

I gathered my bags and made my way through security. As my Kenyan family disappeared completely from view, I absolutely could not stop the tears from rolling down my face. Troy's words from that matatu that day were echoing in my head. I knew that what I was running towards was going to be fabulous. I was going to have an amazing job and I was going to be in a relationship with an amazing man for at least the foreseeable future and I was going to be within quick flying distance of my brother. All of these things equal fabulous in my life.

However, in the category of "things that do not equal fabulous" are all of the things that will not be part of my life in America. The sound of the children greeting me in unison at every school I went to in their precious little accents. The frenetic hustle of the market and how it was just as likely for me to buy shoes made of old tires as shoes made of designer leather. My favorite flavors of Fanta and afternoon tea. My life was going to be in a completely different rhythm on the other side of this journey and it felt like getting on this plane here in Nairobi was consenting to that change for once and for all.

As I made my way down to the south end of the terminal to get one last cup of Java House coffee before my flight (and buy about six bags of it because Troy threatened not to let me into his house if I didn't bring him enough coffee), my phone signaled that I had a text message.

_I am so excited to see you that I just might not let you get back on that plane in January. I love you. Safe Flight. _

Oh, if only he knew.

&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&

_I have ten pounds of Java House for you. Is that enough to win your love?_

I laughed out loud and Gabi looked at me strangely. Not wanting to explain, I just muttered, "Texting Sharpay."

Hm… how dirty can I get with this…

_Only if you personally present them. _

Of course, I've got about ten dirtier comments to go along with that one… mostly involving what she should be wearing when she presents said coffee…

&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&

I cocked my eyebrow up at that text. I mean, seriously, I've got about ten dirty responses floating around in my head…

_Is clothing optional? _

&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&

I am completely in love with this woman.

&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&

Okay, I don't embarrass easily, but I can feel my cheeks turning a little pink.

_Bolton, I never consented to Saran Wrap. Ever._

&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&

_Fine. If you insist. I'll accept your coffee in the nude._

As soon as I pressed 'send', I knew what she was going to send back to me.

_I never asked for you to be nude. Gross. Boy parts._

I chuckled and typed quickly.

_Fine. I'll wear clothes. But no promises as to how long you get to keep yours on._

&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&

I snapped a quick picture of my face pretending to be scandalized and added a message to my text.

_Mr. Bolton, I do declare._

&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&

I was about ready to type something ridiculous when another text bleeped into my system.

_Sry, need get ready for flight. Love you. Call from London._

I typed back a quick response of 'okay' and reminded her that I loved her and finally made eye contact with Gabi, who had been staring me down for a few minutes.

"You have a ring, right?"

I stared at her and briefly rolled my eyes.

"Seriously? You're not ready to propose?"

I screwed up my face at her, "Gabi, I'm attempting to have an actual relationship. Not one from a Nora Ephron movie. We had a great month together and we love each other. It's probably a good idea to see if we can date in America before we commit to forever and ever."

"None of that answered my actual question."

"What are we talking about," Andrew interrupted, as he walked into the room.

"Loverboy was just texting Blondie and avoiding my question about rings," his wife replied as I stuck out my tongue at her.

"Engagement rings?" Andrew asked. He was casually flipping through the mail, clearly not concerned with the panic look I was throwing him.

"Yes, engagement rings, Andrew," Gabi huffed. "He won't admit if he's bought one or not."

Andrew looked at me strangely and began to talk before he read my expression, "Of course he has one. We picked it up from the jeweler's last week."

"TROY!"

"Thanks, Andrew. Way to be a pal," I replied dryly.

"What? Like I wasn't supposed to know that you wouldn't tell Gabi?"

"HELLO!! Not addressing my question!"

"There was a moment, yes, when I specifically asked you not to tell Gabi."

"Sorry," was Andrew's only reply. I glared up at him to see him wiggling his eyebrows at me. It's really awesome when your best friend is on your side at all times. "She was bound to find out eventually."

"HELLO! Hormonal woman being denied key information over here!"

I sighed, "Fine, Gabi. I have a ring. It was my grandmothers and I had it resized. However, I have no proposal plan and I'm not going to, like, carry it around in my pocket the whole time or anything."

She glared at me. "But you've thought this out enough that the ring has been resized."

"Clearly."

She looked over at Andrew, "Ten bucks he doesn't even last the first week she's here."

"I'll take that action."

"Over under?"

"I don't think he'll last the first day."

I sighed loudly, grabbed my phone and stood up. "Well, obviously, this isn't fun for me anymore, so I'm going to go."

I could hear them laughing as I climbed into my car. Glad to provide entertainment.

If I was honest with myself, I was actually pretty scared of what life would look like when Shar got off the plane. It's like in _Elizabethtown_ where they realize that they peaked on the phone. I'm a little afraid that we're going to realize that we peaked in Africa.

And let's not even discuss the fact that I actually only get a total of thirteen days with her before she flies back. How in God's name am I supposed to put her back on that plane if it goes as well as I think it's going to?

I sighed and checked my watch. Better go distract myself somehow. She doesn't land for another … oh, forever hours. Guitar Hero it is.


	20. Chapter 20

Author Note:

So, on my flight to my parent's house for Thanksgiving, the in-flight movie was HSM2. How hilarious! Anyway, I will admit to ignoring it for the option of watching Hairspray on my laptop. But since I promised you all a chapter once I was on break, I typed this one out during Project Runway tonight. Hope you enjoy!

Also, may you be able to take some time today and breathe in the things that you are thankful for. Life and breath and food and shelter are great places to start. To my list this year, I'll also add you all - fabulous readers who take the time to tell me that my words are impacting their lives. Little could honor me - or the real people who inspire Yusef, Dinah, Pascal and the other scores of Africans in this story - more than for all of us in the West to live more simply and more aware so that others can simply live.

Happy Thanksgiving, faithful readers!

&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&

"What if I kill you and make it look like and accident?"

"You couldn't pull it off," she said lightly and continued to flip through her magazine from her spot next to me on my couch.

Sharpay's last flight – the one from New York to Los Angeles – had been delayed. Overnight. So she negotiated with the airline to take a flight about three days after she was supposed to and she was crashing with Ryan and Emily. I know that family is important and it's good for her to see them and blah, blah, blah.

However, I have two problems with the arrangement. I want to see my girlfriend. Right. Now. And also, Gabi had chosen to use this three-day unexpected interlude to bug me about how to propose.

The ideas had ranged from flying back to Nairobi and proposing on safari (which I think I had almost talked them into paying for before Andrew realized that I wasn't planning on working at all) to something involving a LA Lakers game. I vetoed that one pretty quickly – I do not need to get engaged with the world tuning in on ESPN.

Of course, that's not even talking about how many times I muttered (or screamed) that I'm not proposing any time soon…

"What would be wrong with singing? I mean, it's how we all became friends."

I tore my eyes away from CNN to make a face at her. "Gabriella, you cannot be serious."

"What? I mean, that song we sang when we met and you realized that you could never live without me… what was it called…'Start of Something New'? Come on! It's like the greatest proposal song ever."

"Gabi."

I could see her hide behind the magazine and I realized that she was joking. Thank God. She starting humming the song and couldn't contain it anymore. It wasn't long before we were both laughing hysterically.

I threw a pillow at her, which she deftly caught and threw back at me. "Bolton, grow up."

I turned my attention back to Anderson Cooper for a few minutes before I heard her speak up.

"I know I've been obnoxious… but seriously? Are you ready to marry her?"

I turned off the TV and shifted on the couch to fully face her. "I don't know."

She paused for a moment and I could tell that she was selecting her words carefully, "Are you not sure because you're worried you've rushed into this or because you don't know if you really love her?"

"Neither."

"Okay."

I took a deep breath, "Did I ever tell you about the first night I kissed her?"

"No, but feel free to leave out any semi-pornographic details."

"And here I thought you loved – "

"Stop. Stop right there," she laughed. "That's going nowhere good. Save your pent-up frustrations for when she gets here. Even the verbal ones."

I winked at her, "Fine. Anyway, so the night I kissed her was the night before we flew to Kigali. We were at her apartment and we were cooking, or she was cooking, and … well… anyway, I just couldn't not kiss her."

"Were you a pansy about it?"

"You mean like I was with you?"

"Or like you've been with every other girl you've dated since me," she commented.

"What the hell does that mean?"

"Oh, come on, Troy! You're like the most famous commit-ophobe in my life! You crush on someone for ages, maybe you'll even 'date' them, but whatever the big gesture is in that relationship – whether it's kissing your first girlfriend or sleeping with the one you went with in college or whatever – you just can't seem to do it."

Well, that was certainly not the nicest thing she's ever said to me.

But, oh wait, she wasn't done.

"If you wait for too long on this one… she's going to get away."

"Yeah, see, I don't think she's going anywhere."

"Oh, really."

I sighed, "Gabi, I know that you take your overpowering Latina personality as a big part of who you are and I know that you think that that gives you the right to run my life, and mixing in the fact that we spent high school doing whatever the hell we did doesn't help your feeling of entitlement – "

"Excuse me?! Feeling of entitlement!"

"- towards running my life but this time… this time it's my life."

She set her jaw and I could tell that I was in for it. Instead, a single tear ran down her face.

"You really feel that I'm trying to run your life?"

"Sometimes, yeah."

She nodded and wiped the tear away, "That was never my… wow… I mean, I'm sorry."

God bless pregnancy hormones and how sometimes they make Gabi rational.

I stayed silent for a moment, trying to see if there was anything else she wanted to say, before I leaned over and grabbed her hand. "Gabi, you only do it because you love me. I know that. Maybe we just need to remember sometimes that I'm a 32 year old man and not a 4 year old boy. It might help."

She giggled a little and I continued. "But it's normally pretty fun. It lets me know that you love me. And it's also what's going to make you an excellent mother."

Tears were back. "You really think I'm going to be a good mom?"

"Once you tone down the shista feminista bit, yeah."

She laughed. "For the record, I think you'll make an excellent husband."

"Once I get up off of my ass and propose?"

"That's a key step in the process," Gabi acknowledged. "But that was a detour. Back to you and Sharpay."

"Yeah, anyway, so the night I kissed her," I ran my hand through my hair and scratched my head for a few seconds. "Do you remember when Andrew made us all read that book about vocation?"

"The one that said that vocation was whatever you couldn't not do? Like you should be in whatever job makes you physically sick at the thought of not doing it?"

"Yeah, I mean, it's one of the reasons that I'm still at Footprints. It's something that I can't not do. I have to take pictures and tell stories and I have to ask questions and force people to see outside of their worlds. And that night? I couldn't not kiss Sharpay."

"Way to justify it, there, slugger."

"Shut up."

"I'm just saying."

"Yeah, whatever, anyway, when I did kiss her, which I will admit lasted for a little while," I was briefly interrupted by Gabi's snort here, "everything fell into place. It was like…I don't know…I hadn't realized how wrong my world was until that moment when kissing her made it all finally fit together."

I was expect a snort from Gabi here, but only noticed a sweet look on her face. "What?"

"I'm restraining comment. Continue."

I'm nervous. "Anyway, in the days that followed, as we talked and dreamed and schemed and fought and all, I just realized that she became –"

"Part of how you understood life to be?"

I looked up at her. "Yeah."

"Troy. Marry her."

"What?"

She paused and shifted slightly, putting her hand on her stomach. "Sorry, he's feisty today. Anyway, I have this theory that we spend a lot of time justifying what we feel at the first kiss. I kissed a few boys, Troy, before I kissed Andrew. But none of you made my life make sense the way that Andrew did."

"So you knew the first time you kissed him?"

"I think so. I mean, we were so young that I was scared shitless to admit it, but I think that I just spent those next few years of our relationship trying just to check and double check that I wasn't crazy."

"Any of us could have told you that you weren't crazy."

"Yeah?"

I smiled at her, "Yeah."

"Okay, well, that being said," she smiled, "Unless you have been completely lying to me and she gets here and she's still as buckets of crazy as she was in high school… I don't know, Troy, the way your eyes dance when you talk about her… I think the world would be a better place if you just married her as soon as you can."

&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&

"So you seriously haven't told him?"

I pulled my load of clothes out of Ryan and Emily's dryer and began to fold them. "I just didn't think that it was something to be done over the phone."

"But you seriously haven't told the boy that you bought an apartment four blocks from his?"

"Once again, not really a phone moment."

"You selfish bitch, you just want to see his face."

I laughed, "Clearly."

Ryan rolled his eyes and began to load the washing machine next to me. Ryan's a little OCD about his laundry routine and my decision to do my laundry before my flight to LA had thrown him off. Heaven forbid.

"Hey," he said quietly.

"Hey," I said equally as quietly.

"How are you holding up?"

I finished folding the last pair of my trousers and looked at him. "How do you mean?"

"Well, day three is usually when you start freaking out."

"You're referring to my last visit home?"

"Yes, I believe that it was day three when you threw a shoe through our television."

I laughed, "Oh my gosh, I had forgotten about that."

He grinned, "Emily and Sarah haven't."

"Oh my gracious," I shook my head. "I'm a treasure."

He laughed. Emily called to us from the kitchen and we both headed in there.

"What's up?" Ryan asked.

"Did I hear you say that you haven't told Troy that you're staying?"

I glared at Ryan, "Yeah, I just didn't feel that it was a phone thing."

"So, when are you planning on telling him?" Emily asked.

"The first night that I'm there."

"You promise?" Ryan contributed.

"Yes, Mother."

We went about the business of cleaning up the kitchen from the breakfast that we had just had. When all of that was over, it was basically time to leave for the airport. I hugged Em goodbye and left Sarah (who was at school) a note and Ryan and I walked to the train station.

Once we had maneuvered the NY Subway system and had gotten on the right train out to JFK, he asked me the question that I knew had been burning on his mind since I had landed.

"So, when he asks, are you going to say yes?"

"Who says he's going to ask?"

Ryan rolled his eyes. "Whatever, he's going to ask."

I made a face and replied, "I mean, I know that we've kind of talked about it, but not really."

"You're avoiding my question."

I was quiet for a moment, "You're asking me about Nigel, really, aren't you?"

He took a deep breath, "I just know that, recently, Troy has brought up some ugly memories for you and I was just wondering how much further you've processed that."

"I don't know," I replied. "I do know that I promised Dinah and Yusef both that I'd go to therapy once I got settled in San Diego."

"Really?"

"Yeah. We just all kind of figured that it would be a good idea."

"I agree," Ryan said. "I think that you've been really good at ignoring most of the baggage of your life and before you do this marriage thing again it might be a good idea to sort through it all."

"So you think that if he proposes and I haven't started therapy, that I should tell him to hold on until I'm fixed?"

"Well," Ryan said cautiously, "I don't think that you can ever assume that you're 'fixed'. I think that going to therapy so that you can become better is… not maybe the best idea."

I paused and looked down at my hands for a minute. "What if I never get better?"

He paused, "Is that what you're most afraid of?"

I nodded, "I just have this fear that … that if I actually start opening these cans of whatever inside of me that all this crazy is just going to keep coming out and I'll be useless."

"Maybe that's true."

"Well that's encouraging, thank you."

"Or, what everyone else says about living with your scars and dealing with your baggage is true. That working through it makes you stronger and after a while the pain and hurt looks less like scars and more like character."

I thought about that for a while and was about to respond when he spoke again. "I think that what you're really afraid of is that Bolton will not be okay with the crazy."

"Yeah, that's possible."

"Okay, well, I'm just going to throw this out there. I really don't think you can ever get more crazy then you were when we were growing up."

"But he ran from that."

"But you know that you'll never go back there. And the ice queen is scarier than anything else you'll ever throw at him."

I chuckled as he continued.

"It's not like I've talked to him about this or anything, but I know you and I knew him once and I'm just saying that if he does pull the ring while you're out there, I would encourage you to jump in and say 'yes'".

I looked at my twin and felt the world shift just ever so slightly. It was one of those really adult conversations. I just may have met the man I was going to marry and I was definitely talking about taking a journey towards emotional health. It was like agreeing to grow up, or something.

Changing the subject, he said, "So you're out there for a week this time, right?"

"Yeah, and then he's coming back here with me for Christmas stuff."

"And then you're going back out there for New Year's?"

I nodded. "He thinks I have to leave for Kenya again on January 4th."

"Have you thought about how you're going to tell him?"

"I've got some ideas."

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	21. Chapter 21

**Author Note:**

Once again, you're pretty much getting two updates in one day. I know that many of you were waiting eagerly for this, so here you go!

Thanks, as always, for your reviews! I'm starting to get messages that people are recommending this story to friends and fellow readers – wow, I'm flattered! I still can't quite believe that this many of you are reading this – much less telling others to read it and flagging as a "favorite" story. Seriously. Y'all honor me.

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"Troy?"

"Yeah?"

"It's Ryan. Listen, she just went through security and I checked that her flight was on time. So, the timing should still be alright."

"Did you talk to the gate agent?"

"Yeah, and she said that you sound like a sweet boy and that it shouldn't be a problem. She'll make sure that it all gets to her flight. And here's the number you have to call – 852-774-0321. I think she said that it's the phone in the first class galley or something."

"And we're sure that it's going to get me to the right people?"

I could hear Ryan sigh through the phone. "Troy, I promise that JFK gate agents are not usually on my list of accommodating people. If this woman wants to help you, let's just run with that, eh?"

I laughed a little and admitted, "I just really want this to work."

"Trust me, so do my wife and I," Ryan laughed. "Troy, I know that we haven't seen each other in, you know, a while, but I have literally never seen my sister like this. Not even when she was in love with you the first time."

"Really?"

"Seriously, man," Ryan affirmed. "Listen, I'm about to head down into the subway and I'm going to loose you completely, so let me just say good luck and I'm sure that Shar will call me and fill me in."

"Great, man, thanks."

I clicked my phone shut and checked my watch. A flight from JFK to LAX usually took about five and a half hours. That should give me enough time.

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"Ladies and Gentlemen, we've now reached our cruising altitude…"

The flight attendant droned on about seemingly nothing and I went back to the packet of information that I had been pouring over for since we had taken off. It was a proposal for a model program that I could use when I went into high schools to teach about international sex trafficking. Some things I liked and some things I didn't, but over all, it was just beginning to feel real. This was my new job. This is really what I was going to do.

I had splurged and bought a first class seat, for the simple reason of more room to spread out my folders for the five and half hour flight. The businessman seated next to me must have thought I was nuts a few times as I began to cry a few times as I read statistics that should not be real. For instance, the average age of a prostitute in Bangkok is 9. Average. I almost threw up on that one.

"Miss Evans?"

I looked up to see the flight attendant standing over me with a small box. "Yes?"

"I was instructed to give this to you."

I accepted the box in confusion. "Thanks."

"Absolutely. If you need anything further, please let me know."

If I need anything further than the creepy anonymous box? Awkward.

It seemed to be a standard airline meal box, so I wasn't quite sure why I had been given it…

… Until I opened it.

Snuggled inside the box was a stuffed elephant from Amani – just like the one that I had picked out for Orville, actually – and a few bags of Kenyan tea. Also, a note.

_So you're away from home for a few sleeps. I thought maybe I could send some stuff along on this flight that could make the transition a little easier. If you ask the flight attendant, they've agreed to (well, I hope they have – if not… ask really nicely and use those bargaining skills I know so well) brew a cup of chai for you. Take a deep breath of Orville (that's what I've named him)… the next time you smell that cologne, it'll be on me. I can't wait. _

_I love you._

I stuffed my nose into the elephant – sorry, Orville – and sniffed as strongly as I could. Troy must have bathed this thing in his cologne, but I could also faintly detect the deep woody smell of Gracia. He had no idea how much… Oh gosh. I just…

"Miss Evans?"

I blinked up through tears and noticed the flight attendant hovering, "Yeah?"

"Would you like me to make that tea for you?"

I nodded and surrendered one of the bags.

"Excuse me," the woman across the aisle spoke up, "I just wanted to say that I was already on the plane when your boyfriend called to explain what was going on and I don't know you at all, but please hold on to that one."

I laughed, "Trust me, ma'am. I plan on it."

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The TV says that she's been landed for twenty-four minutes.

Twenty-four bloody minutes.

Where the hell is she? Is she shopping the airport boutiques? Is there possibly anything more important than me?

Wait. Door opening…

Negative, Ghost Writer.

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_Stuck on tarmac. Will physically walk to you myself soon._

I had sent the text a few seconds ago and was just about to put the phone back in my bag when I felt it vibrate again.

_Do it. Right now. Grab Orville and make a run for it. _

I giggled and typed quickly.

_Just be prepared for me to tackle you when they finally let me off._

"Is that him?" My new friend Nancy asked me. I grinned at her and nodded. After the delivery of my first package (yes, first, there were more), I began to tell her the story of Troy and me, realizing that it was really every bit as romantic as wonderful out loud and to other people as it was to me.

_No problem. Tackle away._

I chewed my lip for a few seconds before coming up with the reply back.

_I would prefer if you were shirtless when I got off the plane. Can you arrange that? It just might save time._

I can't believe I sent that.

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I double-checked the text before I casually made my way to the bathroom. Slipping into a stall and sliding my t-shirt over my head, I snapped a photo and hit 'send'.

She wants to play dirty, well then bring it on, Blondie.

&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&

Holy hell I have to get off this plane right now.

I was about to type something when the captain announced that our gate had opened and we would be taxiing into place in the next few minutes.

My joy overfloweth, isn't that what Dinah always says?

Literally, I swear that my skin is the only thing keeping me from going everywhere at once in sheer excitement.

_Stay put. We're taxiing._

&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&

Stay put? Does she think I just whipped my shirt off in the middle of the airport?

_Well, lovenug, the picture was taken in the bathroom. Did you really think that I had added exhibitionist to my list of hobbies since I left Kenya? _

I sent the text off and then laughed out loud at her reply.

_Girl can dream, can't she?_

I love this woman.

&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&

I bid goodbye to Nancy and Brenda (the flight attendant who made me promise to email her the rest of the story) and made my way up the jetway and into the airport. It had been a long time since I had flown into LAX, so I searched for the signs that lead me to baggage claim.

He promised that he'd be just on the other side of security. I grabbed my phone and sent one last text.

_Off the plane. Get ready, boy. I'm coming. _

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Flowers. Check.

Large/Slight obnoxious sign? Check.

One last text message.

_Gabs. It's go time. _

&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&

I saw all of the paraphernalia that he had purchased before I even saw him. I broke through the security doors laughing right out loud.

"Really, Bolton? Was all of this necessary?" I called to him as I began to walk – as slowly as I could make myself – towards him. I wanted to savor this moment. Savor his eye contact and the fact that the man had literally brought a dozen African violets with him to the airport. Savor the sign that was hanging on the wall next to him that read "karibu hawa ya moyo" which is one of the most grammatically awful sentences in Swahili, but transliterated means "Welcome Fervent Love of my Life".

He was casually leaning on the wall – with one foot tucked up behind him – and he was wearing one the shirts that he wore a lot in Africa. It was this deep brown that made his eyes just… pop… and well, yeah… "It's not everyday that you manage to tear yourself away from that continent and come home to me."

Yeah, about that…

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I'm hoping that she's walking this damn slowly because she loves drama or wants to savor the moment or some crap like that. Well, if she's not going to run to me, I'm not going to run to her.

She stopped about three inches in front of me and pulled Orville out of the pocket of her hoodie. "Troy, I…"

Really, we're going to talk about the elephant first?

I pushed myself off of the wall and placed my hands on the back of her head. By the time my lips found hers, her hands were under my shirt.

&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&

You know all of those awful romance novels that your mom tells you never to read but you do anyway? Where they talk of "drinking in each other's mouths" and crap like that?

It's true. It's possible.

&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&

I pulled back and moved my hands down to her waist. Pulling her closer, I whispered, "Hi."

"Hi," she giggled a little back. She leaned in to kiss me again – and who am I to stop her? – but pulled away quicker this time.

Her eyes dwelled for a minute on the sign. "Do you want to know how wrong that is?"

"Nope, I'd rather we just assume that you know what I'm trying to say and appreciate the fact that I had to go out and buy a Swahili-English dictionary and that's how much I love you."

She shrugged, "I can live with that."

"Baggage claim?" I asked, reaching for her bookbag (that had been dropped on the ground while I ravaged her mouth. You heard me right. Ravaged. That's how I roll.) and started to walk.

"Hold on."

"Yeah?"

"Before I loose this moment," she began and produced Orville again. "You did not have to and I know you're going to say that you wanted to but you need to know that in my wildest dreams and fantasies which are pretty extensive I just never imagined that anyone would go to those lengths and you're just amazing and I need you to know that."

I pursed my lips to keep from laughing. "Don't forget to breath, love."

She slugged me in the arm and we gathered up the flowers and sign and her carry-ons and starting following signs for baggage claim.

"Hey," she turned to me suddenly. "Do we have plans right now?"

I shook my head, "None specific."

She grinned. "Excellent. Then when we get to your car, I'll drive."

"You haven't driven a car in like four years. I'll drive. But you can tell me where we're going."

"Fine."

"Which is?"

"What?"

"Where are we going?"

"You'll see when we get there."

"Still in charge in America I see."

"Ice Queens don't die, they just thaw slightly."

"Fair."

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	22. Chapter 22

**Author's Note: **

So, it's kind of a short, filler-type chapter. I know that a lot of you are ready for the 'happy ever after' immediately, but I kind of hate doing that immediately. It's not logical to me that they would get engaged immediately after she moved. However, I wanted to give you a little taste – little snippets – of their life that they're building together.

I've got some other comments that I'll save until after you read…

As always, I'm honored and amazed at all of your feedback. On other stories that I've written, I get a lot of 'update soon's and that's all. I really appreciate you all taking the time to tell me what you loved and what's frustrating you and how, maybe, some of these ideas are continuing to swim around in your brain after you're finished reading. You all rock my world. Seriously.

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"Turn left here."

"Where in God's name are we going?"

"You'll see. Now, go four blocks and turn left again."

"Okay."

"Troy, you're missing it."

"You said four blocks! We've gone two."

"Okay, well, maybe I meant two."

"Well, now I've got to turn around."

"Okay, now turn right."

"Into this apartment complex?"

"Yeah."

"The one called Sunshine Meadows? Seriously?"

"Troy, I don't give a damn what it's called. Take the second right and the park there in front of the first building."

"Okay. Now what are we doing here?"

"Follow me, I've got something to show you."

"Shar, why are we breaking into a stranger's apartment?"

"We're not breaking in, I have a key."

"Well, that still doesn't answer my question."

"What question?"

"What are we doing in this apartment?"

"It's mine."

"What?"

"It's my apartment. It's where I live. I wanted to show it to you."

"It's your apartment?"

"That's what I said."

"It's where you live."

"Uh huh."

"You live four and a half blocks from me."

"Is that too far?"

"Four and a half blocks."

"I figured it was closer than Nairobi."

"Um, yeah."

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Seriously, she lives here. In America.

I'm telling you, I don't think that I'll ever fully recover from the moment where she looked at me and told me that I had been right and staying in Kenya was running and she chose me.

She chose me.

Does that possibly mean that she's ready to move as fast as I am?

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"Where does this box go?"

"In the kitchen."

"Even though it's full of underwear?"

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Tomorrow, I'm supposed to walk into a room full of 10th grade students and tell them all about the horrors of the world. I'm going to try to translate my life and my passions into somewhat student saavy terms and I'm determined not to get angry if they don't care.

Of course, I say that, and I know that if they snigger or if they don't cry then I will be a mess. Troy tells me that he'll be at my apartment with Disney movies and take-out Chinese food. And possibly a few bottles of wine.

In the month or so that I've been living here, I feel like I've gotten all of my questions answered. Can I survive in America? (Answer: some days better than others.) Can I see myself growing old with Troy? (Answer: absolutely.) Is it possible to truly live well without using my passport on a daily basis? (Answer: some days better than others.)

I suppose that it should truly say something deep to me that on the days that I am the most tempted to run the hell back to Nairobi or Kigali or India or Belfast or … as quickly as possible, it is Troy that keeps me here. Even on the days that he's the reason I want to run. Seriously. Is it really that hard remember to put the damn toilet seat down when you're at my house? Seriously?

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"How'd the first day go?"

"I had a fourteen year old boy ask me how many Africans I slept with."

"So, fabulous?"

"Beyond words."

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"Troy! She's what, eight months?"

"Yeah."

"And her water broke?"

"That's what Andrew said on the phone."

"Are they ready for this?"

"You mean is Gabi ready to push a living being out of her vajayjay? I believe no."

"No, asshole, I meant parenthood."

"Well, doesn't the pushing come before the parenthood?"

"I hate you."

"No, Sharpay, you're in love with me."

"They're not mutually exclusive emotions, Bolton."

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We've been in the waiting room for, like, nineteen million hours. As I say so to Sharpay, she rolls her eyes and responds, "Maybe her vajayjay isn't being flexible enough."

Every time I complain that fourteen hours seems a little long to sit in a waiting room waiting for the miracle of life to get on with it, I get a withering glance. We've been in and out of the delivery room a few times, but at this present moment, Gabi's napping and Andrew is talking to doctor type people.

Gabi's water broke three and a half weeks early, so to say that the Morales' were a little unprepared for this arrival is a bit of an understatement. As soon as we had arrived at the hospital and realized that this was not going to be a short journey, Sharpay and I had gone back to their house to asses the nursery situation. Which is also how I spent my morning at Babies-R-Us, listening to Shar coo over outfits and such things.

It's also where I finally got up the nerve to ask if she wanted kids.

"Yeah, I mean, someday. Don't you?"

I paused, and fiddled with the swaddling blanket I had in my hand. "Yeah, someday."

"What's that in your voice?"

"What?"

"You sound like we're answering two different questions. Like I'm talking about children and you're determining if I'm worthy to bear your children. Troy, I promise, I think my womb will be very hospitable."

I chuckled and swallowed all at the same time, which made for a very awkward noise, by the way. "You are absolutely worthy to bear my children."

"Damn straight."

Damn it, if I'm going to do this in the baby superstore of America….

I reached her hands and looked straight into her eyes. "I just, I mean, it's a major question."

"I know, baby," she whispered.

"And we've never talked about it before."

"No, we haven't."

"I feel like this is a major moment. I'm standing here in the most awkward place possible, declaring that I want to have children with you."

I could hear her breath catch, "Is that what you're declaring?"

I nodded.

She was silent for a moment, before leaning in to kiss me. We stood there for a few moments, before she placed my hand on her stomach. "Can you really imagine it with me?"

I nodded and kissed her again.

Somehow, we had resumed our shopping for our yet-to-be-named nephew and made our way back to the hospital.

I haven't really started breathing again.

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"Gabi, we're going to need you to really push on this one."

"DO YOU THINK I'VE JUST BEEN ON FRIGGIN VACATION? WHAT THE HELL DO YOU THINK I'VE BEEN DOING?"

"Baby, you're doing such a great job."

"Holy hell, I cannot believe this is happening."

"I cannot believe that it is under these circumstances that I'm seeing my high school girlfriend's vagina."

"TROY BOLTON, I CAN STILL CASTRATE YOU IF I WANT."

"Damn, she heard that."

"Gabi, seriously, on this next contraction, I am going to need you to push your son out because he is ready."

"Here he comes, love! We can see his head!"

"Troy, I really don't want you looking at her vagina."

"Andrew, I am actually looking at your son. Calm down."

"ANDREW!"

"Troy."

"AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH HOLY HELL HOLY FUCKING HELL HOLY AAAAAAAAAAAHHHHHHHHHHHH"

"He's out! Gabi, he's out!"

"It's about fucking time."

"WWWWAAAAAAAAAAAAHHHHHHHHH"

"Seriously. He's breathing and crying and alive."

"Orville."

"Not Orville."

"Always Orville."

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About three minutes after he emerged from Gabi's womb, my nephew and godson was placed in my arms. Nathanial Jose Orville Morales. 5 pounds and 9 ounces, 17 inches long. A little on the small side, but that's to be expected when the baby's early.

I say that as though I had any idea about any of that before Sharpay explained it to me. I seriously don't know what I'd do without that woman.

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Author Note:

Yes, I know that I didn't label all of the dialogue. However, I think I put enough context clues in there for you to figure out who was talking when. If not and I confused you, I'm sorry.

Also, the delivery room scene was meant to be a mess. I wanted all four (and five, if you count the doctor that I know would be in there and talking to her) of their voices to be a mess, because delivery rooms are intense and not well organized dialogue.


	23. Chapter 23

**Author Note:** Friends, here it is. I hope I did your dreams for them justice. I want to give a quick shoutout to my roommate – who insisted that no matter how I did it, the sweatpants line had to be included – and also listened to me ramble at this chapter in particular on recent road rip.

There's still a few more chapters to go – do not fear! Thanks as always for the feedback that nourishes my soul.

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_As I write this, I'm wondering so many things. For one, how do I address this? What do we call you? Nate? Nathanial? Orville? What are your favorite things to do? Like, do you love traveling or are you a homebody? Do you have a girlfriend? What college have you chosen? _

I know that parenthood changes everyone a little, but I feel like Gabi and Andrew have gone off the deep end. Their latest project is a book of letters to give to Nate on his 18th birthday. They're gathering words of wisdom from all of us. From what Gabi says, there are ten of us that they're asking to write a letter to him at every significant milestone, so that he'll have a commentary on his life from us. It's a cool idea, but I think I've written this letter six times and I'm still not sure what to say.

_I suppose that every one wonders these things for a baby. In fact, when your dad asked me to write you this letter for his little time capsule, I thought he was kind of ridiculous. How am I supposed to know what advice to give you when I'm not sure what your life looks like as you read this at 18. And then a very wise woman reminded me that truth is truth no matter what the rest of life looks like. So, here we go. My 25 pieces of advice for you, Nathanial my beloved nephew, on your 18__th__ birthday. _

_25 Things to Remember _

_The world is so much bigger than your GPA_

_Think seriously before letting the resident freaky math girl of your school talk you into singing in a talent show. I'd only recommend it if you're ready for your life to change. Completely. _

_Enjoy the journey_

_Maintain a standard of excellence in your life, but remember that everything needs to be balanced. _

_Never let anyone rob your identity. Not the world, not a girl, not anyone. Be who you are at all times. _

_You will never receive the plan for your life laid out on a post-it note, so enjoy discovering and testing and figuring it out for yourself_

_Make it a life goal to fill your passport with as many stamps as possible. _

_Failure is a part of life. You need to risk things to really live and sometimes when you risk things, you fail. But failure does not mean that you have failed as a person. It's an important difference._

_Sometimes, the most important thing you can do when faced with really, really painful truths is to weep over them._

_I have a theory that life gets really ugly and difficult when you convince yourself that you're all alone. Isolation is the root of all evil, kiddo. Live life fully and honestly, but definitely do it a group of people (community) that you trust with your life._

_When in Africa, don't choke on the ugali. It's rude. Trust me, I got judged._

_Never be afraid to ask questions. If the people in front of you won't answer them, search until you find people who will_

_Make sure to fall in love with the girls from the top of the tree. They're the apples that are worth the effort, even if they scare the pants off of you to begin with._

_At any given moment, allow yourself to truly feel what you're feeling. Emotional censorship is not always the healthiest option. _

_If your life starts to resemble the drama of an old Disney Channel movie, simplify it immediately. _

_Always live life to honor the fact that the story of the world began before you and will continue after you_

_The older you get, the more your friends will become your family. That doesn't mean they replace your family, it just means you get some additional ones._

_Just so you know, high school never really ends. The kids you couldn't stand in your school just grow up to be the people you can't stand in life. Sorry to break it to you. And it only gets worse if you go Greek at college. I'm just saying. _

_Sometimes the holiest thing you can do is take a nap_

_If you haven't left the country yet – get out. Get out as soon as you can. _

_There will be times where you're not quite sure where 'home' is. The more you travel and the more you move, you may never really 'belong' in one place. That's good. It hurts like hell, but it's good._

_Measure your life – your successes, etc – in seasons of love… in the ordinary moments that make it all work. Don't measure it by salary or status… measure it by how many sunsets you've watched and how many children you've pushed on swings. _

_When you find the girl of your dreams – the one that makes life make sense – don't screw it up._

_Never do anything that isn't worthy of who you are_

_And above all, remember that you are loved. Whenever everything around you seems unsure, remember that. Remember that all you ever have to do to make us, your family, proud is to come home at the end of the day as nothing more than yourself. _

"Is number 11 really necessary?"

As Sharpay's voice resounded in my ear, I realized that she must have been reading over my shoulder. I closed my computer and swiveled to face her. "What's wrong with it?"

"It just seems that you've poured out all this beautiful, beautiful wisdom about everything else and then you tell him not to choke on something. That just seems silly."

"Well, what would you write there?"

She paused, a pensive look taking over her face and then replied. "I'd tell him to always give people a second chance if they deserve it."

"Like I did with you?"

"No, like I did with you."

"Clearly," I laughed and pulled her down into my lap. I kissed her soundly and then let her launch into a monologue about something that had happened at school that day. I'll confess, I wasn't listening.

"Hey Shar?"

"- and then the kid told me that I looked really hot and I'm still not sure how to deal with that because he was twelve, but I decided to reply 'thank you' – "

"Shar."

" – because really, what kind of comment is that –"

Obviously, another form of communication was necessary at this moment. So, after kissing her to shut her up, I looked in her eyes and said softly. "Sharpay, shhh."

She rolled her eyes at me and whispered, "Yes, Bolton?"

I paused for a moment and quietly said, "I didn't know what to write about you."

She looked at me quizzically, "What do you mean?"

"I mean, in my head, you'll be a major part of Nate's life as he grows up and I had all these little one-liners to tell him about making sure to let Aunt Sharpay teach you about the world because its what she does best, but I was afraid to write any of them."

"Why?"

Her voice was even and slightly controlled. I wasn't sure if what I was about to say was the best idea I've ever had but….

"Because how do I know that you'll really be around?"

Tightly, she nodded and got up off of the couch. "Well, then it's pretty good idea that you didn't mention me. I'm obviously a flight risk."

"Sharpay, I didn't mean that."

"Then what the hell did you mean, Troy!"

Okay, so I wasn't expecting the yelling.

"I just meant…" Oh hell, I don't even know what I meant.

"Whatever, Troy. Whatever," she replied and walked off into the kitchen.

"Sharpay, come back here."

"No."

"Sharpaaaaay," I whined.

"No, Trooooooy," she mocked me back.

I ran my hands through my hair and meandered in my studio. Pulling out the top drawer and rumiging around, I found the box that I had had for almost six months. I clicked it open and stared at the ring inside for a few seconds. Now or never, Bolton.

Taking three deep breaths for strength, I wandered back out into the kitchen.

"Sharpay, can you stop washing the dishes for a moment?"

"Troy, it's I wash the dishes or beat the living shit out of you. Your call."

"When I said that I wasn't sure if you were going to be around it's because I wasn't sure at all if I was ready for next and how long you're planning on waiting."

She turned around slowly and replied evenly, "What the hell does that mean?"

I breathed deeply, "I don't even know how to say this. I have all of these ideas in my head of the perfect moment and how to make this conversation go really well –"

"Are you breaking up with me?"

Hello, left field.

"Hell no! Seriously, I can't believe that you'd…" I trailed off. "I was actually –"

Her entire expression changed and she broke out into a smile as she held up her hand to stop me, "Troy, if you're about to say that you were going to propose right now, I'm going to need to stop."

"Why?"

She rolled her eyes at me, "A. I am wearing your sweatpants. B. I have not managed to shower today. C. I am up to elbows in dish soap. D- "

I laughed, "Okay, I get the picture. I'll plan something more appropriate."

She smiled slightly, "By the way, it makes sense now."

"What?"

"The fight we just had – you make sense. I'm not mad."

"Thanks," I replied and began to walk away, until I felt two very soapy, wet hands go around my middle.

"In case you were nervous," she whispered in my ear, "I'm planning on saying yes."

She knows me so well.

&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&

"So the only thing you got from him was that you'll be outside," Gabi laughed.

"Yeah, that's all he said," I replied as I sipped my latte. "He is proposing, right?"

She nodded and put Nate's pacifier back in his mouth. "But he and Andrew are the only ones who know how."

In the past few months that I have lived here, I have found a surprising friend in Gabi. I don't think we'll ever be best friends forever or anything, and she will always be Troy's friend first, but it's nice to be able to talk about Troy to her. There are parts of him that she just knows better and can solve his crazy faster than I can. Plus, she's just fun.

"I do know one thing, though," Gabi spoke into the comfortable silence that had wrapped around us for a few minutes.

"What's that?"

"He believes that he's got to make this a huge event, so only God knows what those two looney tunes have dreamed up."

I made a face, "He thinks it has to be big?"

"Well," she giggled a little, "He probably believes that because I told him a few weeks ago that the longer he waits, the bigger deal it was going to have to be."

"So waiting almost seven months after I moved here? That constitutes a big deal?"

"Girl, if his brain works like I think it does… I wouldn't be surprised by anything."

"So, no matter what, not a waste of make-up?" I clarified.

"I'd say to shave your legs while you're at it."

"Good to know."

&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&

"Are you sure that you're ready?"

Andrew looked at me seriously from across the table.

"As I'll ever be."

He paused and pursed his lips, took a deep breath and stared me right in the eye. "Troy, what you're about to do is huge, but it is just a step. You know that, right?"

"I know."

"I mean, this is when you first make those vows that you'll make whenever you wear the suit and she wears the dress and Gabi cries, it's right now. This is when you first say to her that you're all in, for as long as you both shall live. If you mean it today, the dress and the suit are just formalities."

I looked up at him, "Okay."

Andrew's face scrunched up a bit, "I mean, I know that people break engagements and that the two of you still have an out if you really need one, but I don't think you do. I think that if you're ready to make this step then this is it."

"I don't want an out."

"Then let's go."

I grinned and grabbed my car keys, "You'll pick her up at 5:30?"

He nodded, "Gabi knows to have her ready."

"Did you tell her what we're doing?"

"Nah, I just reinforced what you told her. That Sharpay needs to be comfortable because she'd be outside."

As we both stood up from my kitchen table, Andrew put his hand on my shoulders. "Let me say this now that I never thought you would ever find someone so perfect for you."

"Well, golly gee, pal, thanks."

He laughed, "That's not how I meant it."

"I know."

"She is your… I mean… yeah. I'm not being articulate right now, but I echo Gabi when she says that this world will be a better place with you two working in tandem partnership together. And I don't know anyone who would disagree."

I smiled and pulled him into a hug. Andrew approving of what I was about to do and how I was about to do it was…more important than I have words for. I mean, he is my family. Has been since college. If he didn't think that Shar was a good idea….I don't know how I would have handled that.

Thankfully, I never have to worry about that.

&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&

_Shar, I think that before we talk about the future, we have to appreciate the past. _

With that simple note, at the beginning of the path, I was plunged into the most beautiful thing I could have imagined.

Andrew had picked me up and driven me about a half an hour from our houses to a park that's right next to the beach. The only instructions I was given was to start at the beginning and not skip anything. He handed me that note and pointed me to a path that had two strings running down each side – tied between trees and posts and signs and, I'm assuming, whatever Troy could use to make this work.

As I wandered up to the place where the strings started, I noticed that there were pieces of paper attached to them fluttering in the wind. I picked the green string first and smiled when I saw the note tied to the beginning.

_Born: Troy Alexander Bolton_

_June 22, 1985_

_8lbs, 9oz_

His baby picture was tied right next to it, and then his kindergarten one a few inches down. There were funny notes from a few of his teachers – report card comments, I'm sure – about how he lit up a room as soon as he walked into it because the other kids just genuinely liked him. Some things never change.

I crossed over the path at that point and walked back to the beginning. On the yellow string, it seemed, was my life. Starting with birth, he had traced our lives, complete with pictures and captions and notes. He had obviously solicited help, because most of my comments were written in Ryan's handwriting and I could tell that some of his were written by his mom.

I felt the tears start to pool in my eyes as I continued to move down the years. I laughed right out loud, though, when we hit middle school. There, in her distinctive handwriting, was a note from Ms. Darbus! I nearly doubled over with laughter. Oh, what her reaction must have been when he told her that we ended up together!

However, right around that time, a brown rope joined each of our distinct colors and I noticed a note in his handwriting.

_Do you remember when we met? It was sixth grade when all of the elementary schools were shoved together. You, if I remember correctly, scared the living crap out of us from the very beginning. Little has changed. Anyway, I added the brown and red strings to each of our lives at this point – acknowledging that while we shared similar events, we were not… shall we say… in the same community. You should also notice that I chose not to include any school yearbook pictures. You can thank me later. _

He was right, after all, about our lives being together but not really. I wandered back and forth between the two sides of the path, laughing at middle school and high school memories. There were notes from Ryan and Gabi, naturally, but he also tracked down Kelsi and Chad and Taylor and Zeke – pretty much our whole gang. There were pictures of Twinkle Towne and our summer at Lava Springs, prom and graduation.

I laughed right out loud, though, at the picture of him, me and Gabi from high school graduation that was on his side.

_I suppose that we can laugh now at how there are literally no pictures of just the two of us from high school. Although, I do seem to remember a crazy blonde girl and her personal photographer chasing me around at graduation… couldn't seem to shake her… _

Right after that picture, of course, is where the brown rope stopped – the color that evidently symbolized our shared experiences. However, the red rope continued, with an explanation.

_Although we took a break from each other – hence the lack of brown rope for the next few years – _

I was right.

_- the red one will continue. Since red was our East High color (Go Wildcats.) I figured it was an easy way to show the fact that our time there and our lives in Albuquerque shaped us and who we became. I'll add other colors along the way, symbolizing that we just kept picking up colors as life went on. _

On his side, a deep blue was added. I have learned, over the past few months, that you may take the Kentucky Wildcat out of Kentucky, but you will never take the Kentucky pride out of him. I promise that I had no idea how big a deal it was that Troy was a player for UK all those years ago – but evidently, Kentuckians take their basketball pretty damn seriously. Every time UK plays anything, Andrew and Troy get all decked out in their "Big Blue" garb and scream at the television as though something would actually change.

For the next four years, his blue, red and green rope was peppered with pictures of Andrew, the team life, Lexington and even a picture of Andrew and Gabi's engagement party.

Mine, however, was violet, but only for a little while. About a foot down the line, there was a giant knot of tan colored rope, with a small globe dangling from the knot.

The note attached to it, however, was not from Troy, as I expected. It was from Margie.

_Sharpay, _

_I can't tell you how honored I am to know you. The girl that moved in with me that freshman year – while fabulous – was so obviously in nine kinds of pain that I didn't know what to do with you. I'll never be able to express how excited I was that we finally became friends – but also that I got to be a part of your journey to discover your purpose. _

_Standing in that church in PNG – do you remember that? – _

How could I forget? It was the first funeral I had ever been to.

_I could tell that the world was about to change. I can't tell you how thankful the international community is that it has. I attached a little globe to this letter – which I hope Troy will remember to attach to the knot I told him to tie – to symbolize that that week was the week that the world became your mission. New York City was too small for you and I've never met anyone like that – before or since. _

_You amaze me. And I can't wait to meet your amazing Troy. We've evidently got some catching up to do!_

I smiled through the tears and spun the globe a few times. I wandered down my side of the path to see other ribbons and ropes and strings added to my initial yellow rope for every country I lived in and every trip I took. Wandering back over to his side, there was a thick black rope that represented Footprints and then thinner ribbons for the few trips he had taken that he claims literally shaped who he was.

Then came Kenya.

My Kenyan rope was a beautiful color blue and the note that started it off was from Dinah.

_Girl. You know all of the words I have to say about your life and time in Kenya. You know that I am a different and better person because I knew you and that there are scores of others here who could say the same thing. You know that there is a Sharpay shaped hole in my life here. You know all of that. _

_So I will simply remind you of what I told you in the airport. Do. Not. Make. Me. Swim. Over. There._

Giggling slightly, I noticed that the next picture was of myself and Yusef, then one of me covered in small children. He clearly raided my memory box, because there were pictures that some of my students had drawn for me, and even a necklace that had been made for me, all draped around those few years of my life.

I glanced over at his side and saw some scattered pictures of his various travels, and even one from the high school reunion that I had intentionally missed. He had scribbled notes a few times to make me laugh.

At the same point in both of our ropes, he had tied a huge knot. The brown string re-entered the picture at that point, and the notes and pictures that he had used to talk about our month together were some of my most treasured memories. I almost didn't make it through this section – I was overwhelmed at that moment with how much I missed my life there, but also at how much time Troy had taken to honor that in this moment.

Then, as he had tied another purple ribbon to acknowledge my move to California – I loved how the brown rope stayed in the mix this time – the path curved. I realized that this entire time, I had been slowly moving down in a gentle slope. Also, the sunlight that I entered the path at had turned to dusk. How long had I been on that thing? As I curved, I saw that the ropes (or collections of ropes at this point) moved from the separate sides and had been brought to the middle of the path. They were tied together around a post, that was somehow surrounded with candles, and a bench.

And on the bench, was Troy.

"Hi," he whispered.

"Hi," I replied softly, making my way to the bench. "This is all-"

I trailed off as he put his finger to my lips. "I'm not finished yet."

I nodded and could feel the tears well in my eyes again. This is it. This is the moment that…

"I think it's pretty clear how I feel about you," he grinned.

I nodded and wiped a few rogue tears away.

"I want you to notice that you're not wearing sweatpants, you've showered today and you're not washing dishes. I followed the rules."

"Well done, slugger."

"I just wanted that to be noted," he defended himself.

"It is."

He smiled and reached for my hands. "There are a lot of logical reasons why I think we should get married. I mean, we work well together, we're both really hot so we'd make pretty babies, we both have the same passions. All of these are good reasons. However, they are not the main reason."

My heart was nearly ready to be out of my chest.

"Everything I said that night on the balcony in Rwanda holds true. It's been almost a year since that night and they more true now than they ever have been. You, Sharpay Evans, are a large part of what I understand life to be. Your presence in my life just simply makes sense in a holy and wonderful way.

"I love how you still get infuriated of inane reality shows. I love the way your eyes have a very specific sparkle when you talk about your students. I love that you are not afraid to have awkward conversations with teenagers so that they can really know truth. I love that you are not the Sharpay I went to high school with and yet, in some really beautiful ways, you still are.

"I love taking walks with you and plane rides with you and simply sitting on the couch. I love watching you watch movies that you missed while you were gone. I love cooking with you. Basically, I just love you. And I'd really love to love you and learn how to love you better for as long as we both shall live.

He took a deep breath and reached into his pocket, "So –"

"Yes," I breathed softly.

"I haven't asked yet," he chuckled.

"Fine."

"So," he reemphasized as he slipped the ring on my finger, "Sharpay, will you marry me?"

"Hell yes," I replied quickly and kissed him as hard as I could. "Oh absolutely yes."


	24. Chapter 24

**Author's Note**:

It's a real update this time, friends! I'm not really happy with the chapter, but hopefully you will be. Thank you all so much for your feedback on my question and your continued support of the story. You humble and amaze me.

We're coming into the home stretch here – only a few chapters left – so I hope you're still enjoying the ride.

And please keep your eyes on BBC for more news on Kenya. When I checked this morning, there was more violence in the Rift Valley, which is not far from Nairobi, and home to some dear friends of mine.

&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&

"Oh, that's a beautiful ring," the headmistress, Mrs. Carins, commented. "When's your big day?"

I glance down at my ring and put on my brightest smile. "March 10th." Of course, I was leaving out the minor detail that we were having three weddings and not so much one, but mentioning that would have required more detail than I felt was necessary for a woman that I had literally met 47 minutes ago.

"So, I've gathered the pupils in the great hall and instructed them to arrive with a pencil and a hard surface to write on. Is that all they'll need?"

"Besides grace for my attempts at humor, no," I replied. "That should settle them."

She smiled and we both noticed the time. Grabbing one last cookie – sorry, biscuit, I forgot where I was – and gulping down my tea, I continued my explanation. "The presentation and discussion usually lasts about 90 minutes. You had mentioned that I have until half ten, is that correct?"

Mrs. Carins indicated that I should follow her to the room where my equipment was already set up. It was slowly filling up with students who had elected to take my workshop.

Today I was at Methodist College in Belfast, which was one of the best grammar schools in the country, and arguably in the entire United Kingdom. Oxfam had flown me over as part of our partnership with DATA, Christian Aid and World Vision to educate "western" students about the realities that aren't shown on their television. Since I had lived in Belfast before, I was probably one of the more qualified Americans to chat to a group of the best the island had to offer. To be completely honest, I wasn't entirely sure why I had been asked to do this little jaunt, but I wasn't about to complain. Not only do I love Northern Ireland and any opportunity that I get to visit, but this time Troy got to come as well.

Speaking of my pretty photographer, I checked my watch quickly. It was about 9:55am, which means that he's probably just ambling himself out of bed back in the hotel.

The headmistress calmed the chattering students and introduced me. In the half-second before she handed me the microphone, there was the familiar feeling of gut-wrenching panic. For the next 90 minutes, I was going to be expected to part educate and part entertain, and everyone who paid for me to be here expected me to change their lives. It was a fairly daunting task, especially when some of them are wearing their best "okay, you blonde American, show me what you've got" expression.

Most of them, I knew, were there to fulfill a requirement for graduation. Methody, as the school was affectionately called, had a program that required their students to know what was going on in the world outside of the university sector of Belfast. They had to accumulate so many credits by attending lectures and other cross-cultural experiences.

For a speaker, that meant that I should never expect them to care. It's something that I've learned in my year at this job. I expected everyone to desperately care about refugee women in Darfur and I discovered that… well… that's just not always the case. At first, that just made me really angry. Really, really angry. I just couldn't understand. I would stand in Troy's kitchen, railing about "those self-indulgent suburban spoiled brats", much to his amusement.

I couldn't even begin to comprehend how a really high score on some ridiculous XBOX game could be more important than millions and millions of preventable deaths from poverty each year.

Then, midway through the summer, I realized that upper-middle class suburban white kids were not bad people. It was so far outside of their realm of possibility than for me to expect that my lecture would revolutionize their lives was unfair. Of course, that doesn't completely absolve them. But I can't completely hate them.

It didn't help, by the way, for Troy and Gabi to remind me that I would have been the girl filing my nails in the back of the room during any of these shenanigans. Like the chick in fourth row was doing right now.

"Hiya, pals!" I greeted them, "Like Mrs. Carins said, my name is Sharpay Evans and I work for Oxfam International, which is a pretty cool organization and is more than just charity shops. Which, ps, if you shop there, you help pay for a lot of things, including saving the world and my paycheck. So thank you."

I flashed my trademark grin to a sea of chuckles. "I started working for them right out of uni, so it's about eleven years now. I know, I'm old. However, being around Oxfam for that long as allowed me to live in five countries. My favorite being right here in beautiful Norn Iron."

For those last two words, I pulled out my thickest Belfast accent, which had the kids' howling. "I lived here in Belfast for about a year – doing some work at Queen's. My flat wasn't far from here, actually, just off of the Ormeau Road, so it kind of feels like coming home today.

"What else do you know about me before we get started? Oh, well, I'm not married, yet, but I am engaged to a really pretty boy named Troy. He actually took a lot of the pictures you'll see today, so that's rad. We're getting married in a few months, so I'm pretty excited. My dress is amazing."

I paused for some giggles and I did a fake curtsey. "So, on with the show! What I need y'all to do – when I say go and not a moment before – is to divide up in groups of eight. I think that your teachers can help with that process. Each of you will be given a sheet of paper with a phrase or the name of a country on it. I want you, in your groups, when I say 'go', to write everything you can think of about that term or country. Seriously, nothing is off limits. Write things you've heard or things you felt about them. Whatever. You've got about five minutes and then we'll discuss together. Ok? Ready, set, go."

As I pushed a button on my powerpoint slide, the sounds of Coldplay came through the sound system to provide background noise to the din of shuffling humanity. I took a sip of my water and began my usual routine of peeking over shoulders.

One of the things that I have loved about working with students – especially ones in the UK – was how uncensored they often are. The words they were being asked to respond to were somewhat intense. Things like "sectarianism" and "racism" and "sexuality". The responses are … always interesting. The countries were some of the ones that I know well – Kenya and Rwanda and America – and some that I've only read about – Venezuela, Sierra Leone, Sri Lanka.

For the next hour and a half or so, I was going to make them angry and stretch them and gross them out and yell at them and make them laugh… and hopefully shift their realities enough that they use their overpriced education and change the world.

_Sigh_

I love my job.

&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&

_Click_

What I love the most about this moment is that she has no idea that I'm here.

_Click_

I've seen Shar do her thing before – you know, emotionally and mentally bitch-slap the future world leaders – but to see her do it in a school she's so familiar with is … well… okay, I'm totally turned on.

_Click_

She thinks that I'm still in bed, I'm sure, since I rarely like to emerge from under the covers before the hours hit double digits, but I figured that a covert photo shoot was in order. So I'm hidden in the back corner, wearing a suit coat that I bought at Marks and Spenser's this morning, desperately hoping to blend in.

She's talking about the affects of globalization right now and I know that she's prepared to hear some backlash for some of the things that she's saying. Then again, if someone didn't react to Shar's opinions on American world domination and the age of colonialism (as that's what she calls it), she'd clearly be having an off day.

_Bzzzz Bzzzz Bzzz Bzz_

With a look of desperate apology to the faculty sitting around me, I dig my Blackberry (or crackberry, as Shar calls it) out of my pocket.

_Talked to Ryan. Everything's set to use the club. Have you looked into dates at Gracia yet?_

It's about 1am in California right now and Gabi is planning my wedding. Er, weddings. I suppose that Nate is awake, so therefore, so is she.

Shar and I, as we were figuring out to do this whole getting married thing, we realized that there was no way that we could encompass everything that we were in one ceremony. So we settled on three – the official ceremony in Albuquerque and then two other ceremonies in Nairobi and San Diego. Most of the people that Sharpay knew and loved from Kenya could not afford to fly over for the wedding, as much as they wanted to, and we wanted to honor their desire to see us get married. Besides, Yusef is promising a "traditional Kenyan ceremony" and who wouldn't want one of those? San Diego, to be honest, was more to make sure that the official one was small. We figured that there were a lot of people that we would be socially obligated to invite and that really wasn't what we wanted to be about.

Gabi, of course, took it upon herself to plan out the details. She claimed that it was because she needed something to focus on besides Nate, but I think that it's also that there were a lot of things about their wedding that were quite out her control and so she's doing the vicarious living thing.

So the Albuquerque ceremony was going to be a Lava Springs. This was going to be a bit of a nightmare for Shapray, since the most contact she had had with her parents in about ten years was a phone call once a month and then any information she could glean through Ryan. Thankfully, Ryan was still the golden child (having produced a grandchild and all), so he was running interference.

_Dinah said she was looking into it. I'll bug her._

"Okay, kids," I heard Sharpay call from the stage. "I'm going to want you to break up into your groups again. Your teachers are going to give you each a paragraph about a real person's life situation. I've actually met all of the people you'll be talking about. I want you to read the scenario and then discuss it. The people have all asked you guys questions, so make sure you discuss your answers. Ready, set, go."

The music started up again, this time it was a Guster song from forever ago, and I felt my phone buzz again.

_Is the jacket from Marks'?_

I looked up to see her grinning at me from the stage.

_Yeah, bought it on my way here. Tried to blend in._

I saw her giggle a little and could almost make out that she rolled her eyes. I'm sure she did.

_A: You're about ten years younger than anyone you're sitting with. B: the jacket doesn't match your pants. C: I could pick out your eyes from anywhere. Nice try, though, you're adorable._

It doesn't match? Dammit.

_How much longer does this go?_

That probably wasn't the best way to ask that question.

_Bored?_

Yeah, definitely not.

_NOT AT ALL. You're amazing. This seat, however, is not and my ass is starting to get numb._

I could hear her laugh over the music.

_I've got about fifteen more minutes and then I have to pack up. The headmistress invited me to lunch in her dining room. I should probably go._

_Will the food be any good?_

_Probably not. But it might be curry. _

_OH! I love curry. _

_I know. _

_So I finally get you to myself in about two hours?_

_Yeah, probably, why?_

_Because I want to show you how hot you are doing this. _

_Gross, Bolton. I'm talking about poverty. _

_Yeah, it's a turn-on. _

_You are such a boy. _

_Excellent observation. _

I heard the song coming to a close and settled back in to watch the conclusion. My phone vibrated one more time.

_You being here? Amazing. I love you. _

I smiled and replied in kind. I saw her take a deep breath and pick the microphone back up. "Okay, pals! Come on back."

I'm marrying a woman that's capable of keeping 450 high school students in the palm of her hand, all while shaking the foundations of what they consider to be normal.

I'm totally marrying up.


	25. Chapter 25

Authors Note:

Authors Note:

Wow, friends. Here it finally is. It's been through many rewrites and a season where I was ready to give up all together, but it's done. The journey will now have to live on in your heart and imagination.

I want to thank you so much for all of your support and kind words throughout this story. It was a lot of catharsis for me to write it, so thanks for listening to my therapy.

Seriously, thanks. Hope it does it justice for you.

&

I honestly don't remember a whole lot from today. I know that Sharpay was wearing a dress and that there were a lot of people that I didn't know grabbing us and yelling "congratulations". I'm fairly sure that there were several old women who pinched my cheeks and slapped my ass. However, I do remember one moment like I remember nothing else in my life.

_Sharpay Renee Evans, do you take Troy Alexander Bolton to be your lawfully wedded husband, for as long as you both shall live? _

_I do._

And while I still don't fully understand why she agreed to that, I'm pretty damn thrilled that she did.

Now, after a few hours of hob-nobbing with people that our parents invited, we're sitting in a pretty nice hotel room, wrapped in really plush bathrobes and eating chocolate-covered strawberries. There may have also been some other activities between hob-nobbing and strawberries, and those were fabulous as well. But irregardless, now, in this moment, I am eating with my wife.

My wife.

That's pretty damn fantastic.

"So, when's the next shindig?" I asked, slurping a strawberry.

She counted quickly on her fingers, "Four weeks."

"And the next one is in San Diego, right?"

"Yup. At Gabi and Andrew's, in the backyard."

"And then we're off to Nairobi?"

"Pretty much. Maybe a few days, I can't really remember right now."

"It may be because I've been pretty distracting this evening."

She turned to face me and raised an eyebrow, "It's you who has been distracting, Mr. Bolton? I mean, I believe there were a few comments about my legs earlier that make me believe that the scale tips in my direction."

"Well, Mrs. Bolton," I grinned especially on the 'mrs', "there were some comments in my direction as well."

She pursed her lips quietly and nodded. "Fair play."

We sat in companionable silence for a few moments. She snuggled back up to me and ran her hand under my bathrobe.

"Hey," I whispered.

"Hm?"

"We're married."

She pushed herself up and could not keep the smile off of her face, "For as long as we both shall live."

&

_Nawaombea harusi_

_Mungu awabarikie_

_Furaha iso kiasi_

_Wote bwana na bibie_

_Rabi awape nafasi_

_Dhuria wajipatie_

As the Swahili prayer swirled in the air all around me, soaring on the voices of so many that I loved… well, I think that's when I finally felt married.

Troy and I did that ceremony in Albuquerque about a month ago and I've been signing things as "Mrs. Bolton" for that whole time. We've changed all of our magazine subscriptions and most people have remembered my new last name by now. We even had a big shindig in San Diego. There was even cake. I've done the fairy tale princess wedding that was my dream for most of my childhood, and yet felt like I was an actress going through a scene. It felt like a square peg being forced into a round hole sometimes. Troy says that I was projecting my frustrations with American life onto my frustrations with the wedding planner my mother hired, but I had been feeling smothered.

Until now. Now, with the blessing of the Oxfam Kenya family – as well as friends from Rwanda, South Africa, London, Belfast, Mumbai and even a few stragglers from America – this one felt like I was really married. There were bright colors and small children and singing and it all felt like home.

Troy and I have had many conversations about how we miss the rhythms of Kenya. We miss chai breaks and the market and the sounds of children. I should pause here and say that there are things that I don't miss – having to boil any water that wasn't bottled, showers with buckets, not always having flushing toilets, watching children die, watching parents make impossible decisions, living on a continent that rebels against itself. Africa isn't always a picnic and we have little trouble remembering that.

However, I am more comfortable in my own skin here than I am in San Diego. I will allow that it's possible that I just haven't lived in San Diego long enough and that I'll feel better and get back to an American "normal" sometime soon. However, Troy and I have joined a larger conversation happening among humanitarian workers in our situation – those who are living outside of the country where their heart is – about what normal could possibly be? Do we really want the 2.5 kids and the white picket fence and the "American Dream"? Perhaps I'll live in this tension I feel forever.

Because here's the rub. That feeling that I had in the matatu the day our first fight – knowing that I had to go and knowing that I had to stay – it hasn't really gone away. There are things about San Diego that drive me nuts, but also things that have become home. I love my job, for instance. I don't know if I could go back to doing what I did in Kenya. If I'm honest, it was exhausting and frustrating and I was almost completely burned out by the time I was done. I've come to love living near Gabi and Andrew and Nate, for instance. I love being "Aunt Sharpay" and the conversations that are happening around how my role as Godmother will play out. Gabi and I dream of school plays and play dates and how she'll handle it on the day that he finally goes to school. I love being part of their rhythm of life.

All of that means that I'm not sure I'll ever really 'come home' again. Home will always be a place that exists on several continents. Troy says that we probably just need to find 'home' in each other and our family and however we come to define that. I think I stubbornly wanted to find an address to home for a little while, but sitting here, with the swirling Swahili and the singing children and the abundance of citrus fanta – he's right.

So, I lace my fingers with my husband's and remind my heart to find home in him. In the warmth and the strength and the trust that I find there, in the sense of adventure and hope, in the dreams of futures untold and stories still to be written. And in the meantime, while I am actually in Kenya, I focus back on the wonder around me and soak that up, too.

&

We've been married now for about seven months and it gets more frustrating and more fun every day. Some things have been a whirlwind and it still doesn't feel like things have actually happened. We've fought more than I thought we would and we've spent more time apart than I thought we would. I suppose we both thought that our jobs would, you know, just kind of let us do whatever we wanted because we were just that fabulous. However, while I still contend that we are that fabulous – we did seem to have trouble coordinating schedules. I seemed to have to be in the Netherlands while Shar had a huge conference scheduled – things like that.

I think we've got that ironed out now – along with who uses which side of the sink to spit out toothpaste (there have been incidents) and who chooses which show we watch on which night. We're both big fans of old TV on DVD, like from when we were in high school and college. _The Office (mutual), Gilmore Girls (her), Heroes (me), Friends (mutual)_. Netflix often determines what our weekends look like, honestly. We have cookouts and we try out new recipes and we shop together and we… well, we do life together.

I know her sighs and the sound the floorboards make as she walks across them. I've learned how she brews the coffee with just a little bit too much water for my taste – she's still used to the strength of Kenyan coffee, I think – and how to read the look in her eye when she's talking about her day. I know that when her hand finds my stomach in the middle of the night that she's really missing something she doesn't have language for – and so I just wrap her in my arms and remind her that I'm here. Sometimes that seems to be enough and sometimes I know that it's not.

I'm still slightly amazed that she chose me and I think that I'm still trying not to screw it up. In the quiet of the early morning, she admits the same insecurity. We're both still quietly waiting for the other shoe to drop. I'm not sure if that will stop when we pass some more milestones – one year, five years, first baby, and so on and so forth. But right now, sitting here, I just know that I love her and that she is life to me.

Seven months down, eleventy billion to go.

&

"How long have you been married?"

"About four years now," I replied, smiling into my champagne glass. Troy and I were at a benefit dinner for Senator Whitford. He was running for President and liked Africa enough that we decided to be fans. We were here with the Morales' and it was fun to be here without the kids.

"Do you have any children?"

The woman must be my mother's age. She has that air of dignity that I think comes with your 50th birthday card. Hair perfectly coiffed, tasteful jewelry, clothing that makes her look like she's trying to be First Lady.

"No, we just have a few very energetic nieces and nephews."

She raised her eyebrow slightly and I could tell that she was quietly calculating how long she felt it would be before my uterus gave out and thinking that I should really jump on it because if I don't procreate then I have not fulfilled my duties as a woman.

I love women like this. And by love, I mean that I hope that I never become one.

She changed the subject and I quickly found my way out of the conversation. Because what I was not about to tell the woman was that there were adoption papers sitting on my desk, just waiting to be sent back to Nairobi.

I probably should have said we just didn't have children _yet. _Legally, anyway.

&

"Ainsley, please come over here."

I smiled as I watched my wife corral our four year old. We were in the process of taking our yearly family photo. We thought it would get easier as the kids got older, but we're still waiting for that day.

We have four children; two that we adopted from Kenya, one that we adopted from America and one that we had ourselves. Meghan and Adam are our twins from Kenya. We adopted them when they were three; they'll turn nine in a few weeks. We adopted Ainsley from a daughter of a friend of ours who… well, had yet to grasp the importance of a condom while having some fun in the back of car. So, we've had Ainsley since she was two days old and she's four now. Our baby, Sam, he's our surprise and he's two.

"Mama," Meg called from across the playground, "can I please take the dress off now?"

"Not yet, sweetie, Daddy hasn't actually taken the picture yet. Can you come back over here please?"

"Meg, look at me!"

"Adam!"

"Troy, could you please put the camera down for a moment?"

"I'm framing the shot."

"Right now there is no shot. Your children are going AWOL."

"They're my children?"

"Right now. Yes. Please find something to tie them down with."

"Will the whips from our bedroom do?"

"Clearly."

"Daddy, what's a whip?"

As I left the chaos in the backyard and wandered into the playroom, I surveyed the state of our house. Toys strewn among stacks of books that Shar and I are somewhere in the middle of. DVDs of Hollywood blockbusters mixed in with home movies of trips to foreign nations. I grabbed a handful of favorite stuffed animals and toy cars, hoping to placate the kids for the point four milliseconds it would take for me to snap the shutter and create our Christmas card.

I took a deep breath and walked back outside. Shar had gotten Meg and Adam to sit, holding their siblings in their laps. She was fussing over some of Meg's hair that could not seem to stay in the braid it had been coaxed into earlier. Sharpay's hair was falling like a cascade in the sunlight and I had a brief flashback to our first few weeks together in Kenya when I first fell in love with her.

It was ten years ago that I was first ruined forever. Not only for Africa and for life as a global citizen, but for life with Sharpay as my partner. In the past decade, I've filled my passport with stamps and learned more catchphrases and a few more languages. I've watched my children grow in leaps and bounds and little moments. I have fallen more in love with my wife than I ever thought possible – especially in the seasons where she drives me crazy and it's a choice to love her when I get up in the morning.

"Troy, can you please not just stand there? I've got them settled. Set the timer and get over here."

I threw the toys quickly on the ground, hoping that they wouldn't see them and get distracted. She was right – we only had a few moments before this calm would be lost. I set the timer on the camera and hurried over to my spot next to Meg and Sam. Sharpay, on the other side of the children, found my hand behind their backs and laced our fingers together just as the shutter flashed. The kids leapt up when I told them we were done and went back to their important tasks. Meg ran immediately inside to take off the dress, Adam went immediately back to the tire swing he had been playing on, Sam toddled off in the direction of his brother and Ainsley began twirling around in circles, singing some song from the Disney movie we had all gone to see the night before.

As Sharpay stood up to go, I kept my hand firmly in place.

"Can I help you?" She smirked.

I pulled her close and kissed the top of her ear. Whispering softly, "Just pause. The sun is shining, it's a beautiful fall day. I'm sure it will only take Sam moments to discover the leaf piles that we so painstakingly raked this morning and completely ruin them and it certainly won't take Meg long to try to use the blender in the kitchen again… but right now, can we just sit here?"

"Sitting is so nice," she whispered back contentedly. "Why are our children such holy terrors?"

"I'm sure it has something to do with our gene pool. More yours than mine, actually."

"That only explains one child."

"Well, then, clearly we're awful parents."

"And that one falls to you, Mr. Stay at Home Dad."

"Yeah, well, what can you do."

I kissed the top of her head and squeezed her slightly as we heard a crash coming from the kitchen. It probably shows that we know our daughter, the aspiring chef, pretty well when we didn't panic, but waited to hear her "I'm okay!" call that came shortly after.

"Well, I'll go make sure that 'okay' isn't going to cost us her college tuition," I replied.

"I'll hold down the fort out here."

"Mmkay."

Extracting myself from her arms, I walked towards the back door. Pausing and turning around, I called. "Hey, Evans."

"Yeah, Bolton?"

"Everything from the balcony in Kigali? Still true."

She smiled and nodded. "Same."

"Love you."

"So much."

&

Organizations to Research / Support:

Oxfam International

World Vision

Amani ya Juu

Beacon of Hope

These Numbers Have Faces

Tearfund

Christian Aid

Amnesty International

Stop the Traffik


End file.
